


What Lies Between

by The_Asset6



Series: Deleted Scenes and Broken Dreams [1]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotp, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Gen, Missing Scene, No Romance, POV Multiple, Reference to Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: Ten years never felt more like an eternity. When the crown goes missing, what is left for the Crownsguard to do? ***Spoilers through the beginning of Chapter 14.





	1. Where Paths Diverge

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first Final Fantasy fic I've posted on this site, though certainly not the first I've written. Before you read the following summary, please bear in mind that there will be **MAJOR** spoilers in this story through the beginning of Chapter 14 at the very least. I would recommend finishing the game before you read this if you wish to avoid spoiling the last chapters. 
> 
> That being said, this fic will be five chapters following Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis during the ten years between Noctis entering Reflection and his reemergence on Angelgard. Talcott mentions the fact that the three no longer work as a team with the exception of rare occasions, so unless DLC proves me wrong, this is my take on what that decade may have looked like. This story will be canon compliant and not include any romantic ships not explicitly confirmed in the game itself. 
> 
> Also, to my Marvel followers, don't worry--there will be more to come!
> 
> Without further ado, a prologue of sorts. I hope you enjoy!

So, maybe staying behind to fight the daemon hordes hadn’t been the brightest idea Gladio had ever come up with.

The thought occurred to him too late to be of much use. After everything—making it through Zegnautus Keep, finding Noct and Prompto, putting Ravus down for good—it had all come to naught. They reached the top of the fortress just in time to watch their king, their friend, their brother being swallowed by the light of the Crystal as Ardyn looked on.

“I shall keep your friends company until you are ready,” the Chancellor was saying in that oily tone Gladio had long since come to despise. His final words were nearly drowned out by Noct’s scream as the Crystal glowed blindingly for a moment—and then he was gone.

If a heart could skip a few beats, Gladio was pretty sure that was what was happening to him. From their stunned stillness, he assumed Ignis and Prompto weren’t doing much better. The former didn’t need to be able to see properly to know that something terrible had just happened—something they’d willingly sent Noct into without considering the consequences.

_It was supposed to stop the daemons…_

That thought was the only thing Gladio could register as he stared at the darkened Crystal in disbelief. _It was supposed to save us. The king controls the Crystal, not the other way around!_

It wasn’t a gradual thing. It wasn’t like coming out of a dream to realize that everything was going to shit around you. No, this was sudden; the flame of rage and despair that sparked in his chest was as unexpected as it was potent. The last time Gladio had felt even an ounce of this sentiment was in Altissia, watching Noct move around like a ghost when the world needed him to pull his head out of his ass and remember who he was.

But Noctis was gone. There would be no more anger at him for not pulling himself out of his grief sooner or exasperation for his inability to see the suffering Ignis was enduring—if that was even the case. Regardless, it was over. Noctis was gone, and the man responsible was standing before the King’s Shield just waiting to be felled.

Gladio was moving before he was fully aware of it. As Ardyn sauntered closer to the Crystal, Gladio flew across the scaffolding with his remaining brothers close behind. It was only in a brief instant of clarity that he motioned for Ignis to stay back while Prompto skidded to a stop behind the Chancellor. It would be so easy, _so simple_ to just chop the asshole’s head off and be done with it.

Which meant there had to be something else.

Prompto was obviously thinking along the same lines, his eyes searching the chamber the way Gladio’s were until Ardyn turned to them with a smug smirk that was practically _begging_ to be punched.

“I’m afraid you’re too late,” he mused carelessly, as if he wasn’t standing before three professional— _angry_ —warriors.

It was more than Gladio could bear, nor did he try to. As Ardyn moved to walk past them, Gladio hauled his greatsword into motion and slashed it right across the Chancellor’s face. Darkness oozed from the wound like smoke, poisoning the air around them the same way Ardyn’s very presence had a habit of doing.

But it didn’t stop him. Gladio may have hit him with a stick for all the Chancellor seemed to feel the blow.

A deafening _bang_ echoed through the chamber as Prompto whipped out a pistol and shot Ardyn in the back, throwing him forward to the ground. As the sound of the attack reverberated off the walls in the residual silence, Gladio stared in vehement satisfaction as Ardyn, unmoving, lay before them and his hat rolled to a halt at Ignis’s feet. It was nothing more than he deserved—it was _justice_ for the lives he’d taken and the suffering he’d inflicted.

This wasn’t the place for justice, however. Deep in the heart of Niflheim, surrounded by daemons and MTs and every other foul thing imaginable, was not the place to find comfort or satisfaction. So it should have come as no surprise to any of them when Ardyn reached out, grabbed his hat, and maneuvered himself to his feet in one fluid motion.

Gladio couldn’t help the way his mouth fell open, how his heart ached at the realization that after all the Chancellor had done, they _still_ couldn’t kill the son of a bitch. They _still_ couldn’t avenge their home, his father, Jared, King Regis…or Noctis.

It was impossible to discern whether it was Ardyn reading his mind or simply cruel irony that made him sneer, “And you call yourselves bodyguards.”

To his left, Prompto deflated slightly, and Gladio had to admit he felt the same. After all, where was the lie in that?

“Don’t worry,” called Ardyn over his shoulder as he strolled leisurely back towards the elevator, a trail of darkness Gladio had only ever seen released from slain daemons in his wake. “You’ll have plenty of time to practice before the king returns.”

With that, he was gone, leaving the three of them alone in the dark.

 

***

 

“What… What do you think _that_ means?”

Ignis doubted he would ever grow completely accustomed to his lack of vision, but Prompto’s misery was tangible enough that he hardly needed his eyes. Indeed, without having to see what had happened, it had been impossible to miss the bright (or so it would have been to someone who wasn’t _him_ , he supposed) flash of light and the scream that was too familiar not to recognize. And Gladio’s silence, of course, spoke volumes.

Carefully, Ignis moved his cane in a wide arc before taking a few steps forward. A hand descended on his left shoulder and stopped him when he’d hardly moved, and Gladio muttered, “Careful. Don’t want that thing swallowing you, too.”

“Y-yeah, what he said,” sighed Prompto, the air shifting to Ignis’s right side as he assumed the former came to stand beside him.

With a frown, Ignis paused as everything came together in his head. “The Crystal, you mean?”

One grunt of affirmation from Gladio shattered the darkness, if only in his own mind. How stupid they had been to assume that the Crystal itself was somehow responsible for keeping daemons at bay. How arrogant of them to think that the end of their struggles would come at so low a cost, or that it would be so simple to end a war that had been waging for hundreds of years when so many had died in the attempt before.

How unforgivable of them to forget all that King Regis had suffered in using the power of the Crystal to keep them all safe.

“The Crystal was never meant to banish the daemons,” Ignis realized aloud, shaking his head. There was a scoff to his left.

“Yeah, we figured that much out,” grumbled Gladio derisively. It was easy to forgive him his attitude, all things considered: he was the King’s Shield, and much as Ignis hated to admit it, he’d failed. They all had.

_Or…have we?_

“The Chancellor said that the king would return,” mused Ignis, folding his arms in pensive reflection. “When we got here, he was telling Noct that he would keep us company until he was _ready_.”

“Your point?” Gladio sighed, sounding more tired than angry now.

“My _point_ is that this is perhaps one final trial before Noctis can fulfill his calling as the King of Kings.”

“So, like…an obstacle course? In there?” The rustling of cloth told Ignis that Prompto must have pointed to the Crystal. Maybe he could get the swing of this after all.

“ _Finding_ the damn Crystal was enough of an obstacle course,” observed Gladio.

Ignis nodded in agreement before continuing, “A bit of an elementary idea, but in a sense, yes. Consider what the Crystal _is_ and where it came from.”

“It’s got…something to do with the Star, right?” asked Prompto hesitantly.

“Indeed it does. As do the Six.”

There was a brief silence before Gladio slowly deduced, “So, you’re thinking one of the Six is in the Crystal, and that’s why it took Noct inside.”

“Precisely,” confirmed Ignis, hearing Prompto’s sharp intake of breath. “Noct received blessings from the four Astrals maintaining a presence in Eos. The Draconian and the Infernian were nowhere to be found. He’s proven himself worthy to wield the Ring of the Lucii, so it stands to reason that he must now do the same to gain control of the Crystal.”

“But…” Prompto paused a second before asking, “How long could that take?”

And there it was: the unknowable part of the riddle. It was the darkness that would plague them in the days to come, Ignis had no doubt, as they wondered just how long they were to wait for their king to return to them. He refused to let his faith waver, though—Noctis _would_ return, and that was the important thing.

They just had to be patient.


	2. Equilibrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! As these chapters are each from a different perspective, please note that they will cover what happens over a period of time. A cue as to how long it has been since Noctis's disappearance will be evident somewhere in the text.

"There you are," announced Ignis as he set the steaming plate of his latest attempt at cooking in front of Cid. "Tomalley-filled dumplings." 

Cid hummed in interest, and Ignis internally berated himself for his apprehension. It was a mere dish, and certainly not one meant for royalty. If he failed, he could quite simply try again. It wasn't as though they were short on time, although admittedly ingredients were another matter. Running out meant hunting for supplies, and it had frequently been the case in the last two years that many who left Lestallum in search of necessities never returned. The hunters were quite talented, of course, but there was no telling what daemons you could run into under the endless darkness they found themselves trapped in. Needless to say, wasting food on hopeless attempts to reclaim some sense of independence wasn't a decision to make lightly. Perhaps, then, it was all right to allow himself some small measure of anxiety. He wasn’t purely concerned with how the dish would be received.

If he continued to tell himself that, eventually it had to become the truth. 

So lost was he in his own musings that Ignis nearly missed the snort of laughter his elderly companion uttered. It was only thanks to years of practiced restraint that Ignis stifled a sigh as he awaited the inevitable.

"Now, I don't mean to criticize—“

A boldfaced lie if Ignis ever heard one. Cid's fondness for criticism was only outmatched by his love for tinkering with machinery.

"—but d'you make a habit'a puttin' apples in dumplins?"

Ignis blinked once—twice—before cursing silently. "I thought it was onion."

"Yeah, I gathered."

Sighing heavily, Ignis took up the plate and returned to the kitchen, where he dumped his hard-fought battle against his own demons in the garbage. Movement came easier to him every day, even when he ventured outside the house the former members of the Crownsguard shared, so then why was cooking still so difficult? He'd carefully labeled his ingredients, could work around a kitchen with ease, and had figured out the proper way to use a knife when you couldn't see the blade. If the recipe was simple enough, he could make do and avoid living off Cup Noodles. He'd even managed to make a decent enough kebab to coax a grudging compliment from Talcott, who was a surprisingly picky eater reminiscent of a certain prince he knew. Still, something was evading him, and his inability to fathom what it was had begun to grate on his nerves long ago. 

While Ignis leaned against the counter in aggravated rumination, footsteps alerted him to Cid's approach. It was yet another trick he'd picked up as a result of his visual deficiency: he'd been perceptive before, but never had he noticed the exact way an individual moved their feet—the rhythm, the cadence, the nuances of scuffing and shuffling and the pull of gravity against the ground. Cid was particularly easy to identify, his shuffling gait an obvious sign of his age while still maintaining a vitality all his own. 

"Y'know, you shouldn't be so hard on y'rself," Cid's voice accompanied his arrival. "Takes time."

"Two years is plenty," Ignis brusquely replied, mentally scolding himself a moment later. In times like these, arguing over petty nonsense (however important it may have been to him) was inadvisable. 

For his part, Cid didn’t bat a proverbial eye. “I know a lotta fellas who’d take _decades_ to get used t’a losing their eyesight. Not sure I’d do so well with it m’self. You haven’t given up, though, ‘n’ that means somethin’.”

 _It means I have very little choice otherwise_ , Ignis decided not to reply. Trials born of necessity hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things and were hardly a cause for praise. In other circumstances, perhaps he would have simply let the devastation of his disability inhibit his recovery. This, however, wasn’t a different situation. Noctis could return any day, and he needed a retainer who was whole and capable, not broken and useless. Cooking may have seemed a trivial pursuit and his attempts a miracle to anyone else, but praise for his failure wasn’t a comfort in the face of the task Ignis had to live up to.

“—ign a better system so nothin’ gets all jumbled up,” Cid was saying when Ignis forced himself to surface from the morose reverie he’d fallen into. It was with a pang of shame that he realized his elderly companion was coming up with ideas to help _him_ while he was busy daydreaming about an amorphous future he couldn’t fathom the distance of.

“Don’t put yourself to any trouble,” he immediately interjected as Cid started muttering about the logistics of using a verbal command system as opposed to the Braille that Ignis was slowly but surely growing accustomed to. “I’ll take better care to organize my station in the future.”

A pause, then, “You sure? Ain’t got nothin’ better to do ‘round here but watch the ash pile up.”

Ignis opened his mouth to reiterate that Cid’s assistance wouldn’t be required but stopped short, the words sticking in his throat. It was no secret to anyone that Cid hadn’t been the same since he’d had to admit defeat and move to Lestallum for his own safety. It wasn’t really a matter of choice, at least not on his part: Cindy had been adamant that he hunker down in the most secure location at their disposal, and with the power plant keeping the lights on, that meant Lestallum was the only place fitting their needs. The argument that had ensued was one Ignis didn’t like to dwell on, but Cid had capitulated in the end. After all, he wasn’t exactly in the shape to be hunting, and Hammerhead had become nothing more than a slayer station in the past two years, as the hunters fondly referred to it.

Unfortunately for Cid, that meant that it was difficult to find anything to occupy his time as he’d left the garage and his workshop behind. He would make repairs or enhancements to the weaponry hunters brought their way on occasion, but there was hardly enough to keep him busy with any regularity. The tedious march of days was taking its toll on Cid, and it was that fact alone that had Ignis nodding in reluctant agreement.

“Very well. I’ll leave the specifications up to you.”

Cid’s bark of laughter was strained but more real than anything Ignis had heard from him in a long time. In that moment, despite the sudden blow to his own dignity, he knew he’d made the right choice.

“You just leave it to me. This kitchen’ll be every chef’s dream by the time I’m done with’er.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” replied Ignis, effectively hiding his exasperation.

When, he wondered, would people stop making concessions for him? When would he prove himself worthy of the effort?

 

***

 

It was amazing just how much a person could take for granted. Friends, family, lifestyles—everything seemed so permanent, so unlikely to change in a given moment that it was hard to imagine what would happen if all of it was suddenly yanked out of your grasp. Nary a person considered it on a daily basis until it became the reality they had to live, and if there was one thing Ignis knew, it was that not everyone dealt with the loss as well as others.

In his own situation, he never would have thought something as basic as _walking_ to be a gift. To be able to move oneself, uninhibited and without the need for assistance, had never been a grand idea in the larger picture of his existence. It hadn’t struck him that he’d never needed to be aided in the attempt to get out of bed in the morning, take a bath, walk to the store, or accompany his friends in their travels. Well, it hadn’t until he’d _needed_ it. Those first few weeks after the encounter with Leviathan in Altissia had changed his perspective quite thoroughly. All of a sudden, he’d been hampered by a cane in his grasp, a hand on his back, and a steady sense of darkness that obscured the world around him. In his selfishness, he’d insisted on remaining with his friends through their trials only to realize that he was a hindrance to them—he couldn’t drive, couldn’t cook… He couldn’t even keep up when they did something as simple as _walking_. And when everything fell apart, there was nothing for him to do but listen to the rest of the world as they found a way to live with their new reality.

There was a certain poetic irony to it—the world losing its light just as he lost his perception of it. In some ways, it made him more suited to this strange existence. In the blink of an eye, he’d become a creature of the darkness, a being of eternal night. He was a native in the world they now lived in, for it didn’t matter whether it was light or dark at all: he would never be able to see it.

For all their talk of staying together through thick and thin, it was for that reason that he had separated himself from Gladio and Prompto months ago. Everyone had a job to do, and Ignis was no exception. But what place did a blind man have amongst those who could accomplish so much more on their own? He couldn’t hunt without a guide, and embarking with one did not guarantee that he would _return_ in the same fashion. With so many refugees arriving every day, another set of hands to man the cooking would have been a welcome sight, not that he had managed _that_ with any regularity either. In the kitchen as well as in a fight, he was utterly worthless.

So, with a heavy heart, he’d finally admitted to himself that he was doing his friends more harm than good. They could be of use to someone, unlike him in his present state. Prompto had come into his own on their journey and was now one of the best hunters Ignis knew; it made him restless to stay in Lestallum when he was well aware that his services were required elsewhere. Babysitting Ignis wasn’t his duty, nor was it his responsibility.

As far as Gladio was concerned… Well, he’d been right after all. Ignis was a liability. Until he learned where his place in this new world was, it was better for him to step aside and let those who could still see take the lead. It didn’t stop Gladio from arguing when Ignis used his own logic against him, of course, and Prompto emphatically tried and failed to change his mind before they both admitted defeat.

They all had jobs to do. It was just that Ignis wasn’t sure how to complete his yet.

Ultimately, after pondering long and hard on the subject, he resigned himself to the reality that he would have to start over. Everything he had learned would need to be relearned under the new parameters set for him, and without the help of his friends. He loved them deeply and was grateful, albeit grudgingly at times, for their assistance—but this was a trial he would need to overcome on his own. For all the occasions that Gladio had scolded him for being too soft on Noctis, there wasn’t a doubt in Ignis’s mind that in the face of his disability, Gladio would step up to help whenever he could. That, however, simply wouldn’t do: how was Ignis to learn to live again when he had a shadow ready to do everything for him?

Despite not seeing one another as often as any of them would like, though, Ignis had no doubt that it was the right thing to do. In their absence, he’d been able to determine the proper way to move around unaided—even without using a cane—and had it on good authority that those who hadn’t met him couldn’t tell at first that he was unable to see them. Of all the compliments he’d received in his life, Ignis considered that to be one of the highest.

His ability to move freely was frequently enough to keep his spirits up even on the worst of days, but it didn’t stop Ignis from remembering what it was he had lost and just how far he still had to go before he would consider himself prepared for whatever fate awaited when Noctis returned.

That more than anything else was why he shoved aside his pride to enlist the assistance of the only person he could trust to teach him objectively. Sadly, he had the bruises to prove it.

“Better. You managed to keep your feet seven seconds longer than last time,” Cor praised him as Ignis hauled himself up from the floor for perhaps the eight thousandth time that day.

“If you’ll pardon my skepticism, Marshal,” sighed Ignis, rubbing a sore spot on his shoulder, “it doesn’t feel like much of an improvement.”

There was a rustle of cloth Ignis was beginning to recognize as a shrug before Cor retorted, “For someone starting from ground zero, I’d say it’s a hell of an achievement. You should be proud.”

Ignis hummed noncommittally and adjusted his grip on the daggers he hadn’t used on a daemon in far too long. “Shall we go again?”

“If you’re prepared.”

“Whenever you are.”

Invitation given, Ignis fell into his familiar battle stance and waited. One of the first lessons the Marshal had taught him was that when you didn’t know where the enemy was, it was best to let them attack first. Hunting for them was worthless when the slightest noise would give away their location.

Cor, however, was an expert in his field and rarely made a sound in battle unless he _wanted_ to. There was never a scuff or a whisper of air that he hadn’t planned out beforehand. He wasn’t called Cor the Immortal for no reason.

Ignis remained still, straining his ears for the slightest sound when his senses picked up a nearly imperceptible disturbance to his right. It was nothing, really, just a shift in the air the instant before Ignis raised his blades to block Cor’s attack with a deafening _clang_.

A quick displacement of his feet had Ignis shoving the Marshal back with one dagger while bringing the other up from below to move past Cor’s defenses, but the latter was too fast and met him halfway. Their blades clashed against one another, and Ignis lightly dodged backward under the counterstrike he couldn’t see. Maintaining a defensive position, he allowed Cor to move closer and closer, letting him think he had the upper hand. When he sensed the solid presence of the wall inching closer to his back, Ignis took his chance and ducked beneath Cor’s next offensive strike. He hardly waited for the sound of metal meeting concrete before he was lashing out with his leg, hooking his knee around Cor’s ankle, and pulling his feet right out from under him.

Based on the loud _thump_ and ensuing huff of air, Ignis supposed the Marshal had the wind temporarily knocked out of him. That would leave only the briefest opening, and Ignis was going to take full advantage of it. Flipping backward to land on his feet, he swung the blades around in his hands and descended on his target—

Only to hit the stone floor as he mistook Cor’s exact position, overbalanced, and toppled to his knees. An instant later, there was a sword against the back of his neck and a curse on his lips.

“New record,” observed Cor. To Ignis’s distant satisfaction, he sounded marginally out of breath. “Thirty-nine seconds longer than last time.”

 

***

 

It was the heat that alerted Ignis to the daemon’s presence well before Talcott shouted a warning.

Whirling on his heel, Ignis led with his left foot and plowed the lance straight through the source of the increased temperature. It was lucky he was wearing gloves; otherwise, the skin of his fingers would doubtless have burned under the extreme heat of the daemon’s aura. In his mind’s eye, Ignis could see it: a ball of flame that looked unimpressive until given enough time to charge its attack. Best to take it out before it had adequate opportunity to strike.

Ignis yanked the lance back and dove to the side just as he sensed another presence to his left, leaving the daemon to sputter into darkness as he engaged the new arrival. This one was undoubtedly less magical and more reliant on brute strength, and he found that they met blows with almost equal power. In a quick moment of calculation, Ignis absorbed what he could feel in the creature’s movement—its height, the weight it threw behind its attacks, the sounds of exertion it made in its mad desire to end his life—and adjusted accordingly. It took him less than ten seconds to disarm all the daemon’s appendages after that, then another four to decapitate it. At least, he assumed that was what he had done; the dual thumps hitting the ground and the way Talcott whooped in victory made him confident in his presumption.

“Are you all right?” called Ignis, following the source of the noise until he was close enough to hear Talcott’s heavy breathing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied with the quick conviction of a boy who desperately didn’t want to be left at home on their next hunt. “That was… I can’t believe you took them down like that, sir!”

“It was hardly as impressive as all that.”

“Seriously? You totally _crushed_ them without even s—“ Talcott stopped abruptly, as though uttering the word was somehow taboo, and an awkward silence fell between the two. Ignis was hardly bothered, though; it had been quite some time since he’d let his lack of eyesight be a hindrance to his sensibilities.

“It’s fine to say it, you know,” he reassured Talcott with a smile he wasn’t sure the latter could see in the darkness they’d ventured into. “I’m not blind to the truth.”

There was a momentary hesitation before Talcott’s startled chuckle broke the silence. “Wow. Prompto was right.”

“About what?”

“Your puns. They’re…pretty bad.”

Sighing, Ignis shook his head and strode past Talcott’s voice toward the south, if the wind was to be believed. “Prompto is quite the comedic aficionado. I wonder that he never took up a different calling.”

“He said he learned from the best,” laughed Talcott as he hurried to keep up.

“I shudder to think of who that might be,” murmured Ignis, rolling his eyes. There was a long pause, and he thought that was the end of the conversation until Talcott cleared his throat in a pointed manner far beyond his years.

“Here lately…it seems like a lot of those jokes are a thing of the past.”

Ignis nodded. “I suppose it can be difficult to find a reason in times like these.”

“Yeah,” he murmured softly enough that Ignis almost didn’t catch it. When he spoke again, it was with a weight to his words Ignis heard all too often. “A lot of people seem to think so. There’s…not much to joke about.”

“All the more reason to find something,” countered Ignis without breaking his stride. He heard Talcott’s steps falter beside him, stopping completely a moment later.

“Sir…”

Pausing, Ignis turned toward the sound of his voice and waited. The feeling that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear was, unfortunately, accurate.

“Do you ever wonder…” Talcott hesitated, seemed to gather himself, then pressed on. “Do you ever wonder if the king…isn’t coming back?”

“No,” answered Ignis, immediate and honest. “I don’t.”

“O-oh.”

Realizing that his answer had been a touch too harsh, Ignis softened his tone and elaborated, “I don’t wonder because I already know he will. His Majesty was not prepared to take the throne so suddenly. His absence is in preparation for that end.”

“Right, but—“

“May I ask _you_ a question?”

A pause. “S-sure?”

“Do you remember what the king said to you after your grandfather was killed by the empire?”

“Yeah… H-he said he…wouldn’t let them get away with it. That he would make them pay.”

“And did you believe him?”

“Of course!” exclaimed Talcott, as if doubting his king was a capital offense.

Backtracking a few steps to where Talcott had stopped, Ignis pointed out, “You’re not the boy you were four years ago. A lot has happened, but now isn’t the time to lose faith. The king kept his word and will continue to keep it. He _will_ return, and we must be ready when that day comes.”

This time, there was no hesitation as Talcott firmly replied, “Right. I understand.”

“Good,” nodded Ignis before turning back around and continuing on their path. Talcott fell into step beside him immediately.

“Is that why we’re going to the tomb? To get ready for when Pri—I mean, King Noctis comes back?”

“In a way, yes,” he confirmed with a sigh. “For now, it is best to have all the information we can about this darkness and where it’s coming from.”

“And Chancellor Izunia.”

“Indeed. More information means more intelligence for the king when he returns.”

“You really think the tombs are gonna have the answers?” inquired Talcott curiously. Although he had always been insightful for his age, Ignis admittedly hadn’t filled him in on _everything_ before they left Lestallum.

“I think it’s as good a place to start as any,” he smoothly evaded. “If I had access to the archives in the Crown City, it wouldn’t be necessary. As that avenue is currently unavailable, the tombs will be the best source of information we’re going to find now.”

Talcott hummed in acknowledgement and fell silent, the only sound the whisper of their feet in the grass and the distant rumble of daemons in the everlasting night.

If Ignis was being honest, it was hardly an ideal situation. He would have preferred to attend to this matter with Gladio and Prompto, neither of whom had been in Lestallum when the idea had struck him. They were frequently absent in recent days; in fact, Ignis couldn’t quite remember the last time they’d been together. There was no use in waiting for them to come back, however, and he had prepared to visit the Tomb of the Tall on his own until Talcott bravely volunteered to accompany him.

He’d experienced only an instant of hesitation before agreeing: as Ignis had said, he was hardly a boy anymore. In the last four years, he’d had to harden his resolve and train his body for the fight the same way everyone else did. He, too, had taken his cues from Cor and was a better warrior for it. That wasn’t to say that he was prime hunter material the way Gladio and Prompto were, but he was able to hold his own for one still so young, and Ignis appreciated his intelligence on their journey all the same.

“Hey, there it is!” Talcott suddenly exclaimed, hastening his pace to approach ahead of Ignis. A few seconds later, Ignis’s feet touched smooth, even stone and he knew that they had indeed located the Royal Tomb.

“It would appear that we are in the right place,” he mused as he strode towards where the entrance was supposed to be. “The door should still be open.”

“It is.”

“Excellent. Go to the head of the effigy. If we have any luck left, there will be a stack of documents.”

 _Luck_ , he couldn’t refrain from scoffing to himself while Talcott did as he was instructed. Luck had never exactly been in the cards for them, not at the start of their journey and definitely not now. And if there was one place they certainly weren’t likely to find it, Ignis thought the one tomb that had been plundered and sent them deep into the earth just to get the Sword of the Tall was probably fairly high on the list.

Perhaps it was just the darkness of the mind making him cynical, but Ignis was indescribably surprised when Talcott called, “Yeah, there’s a bunch of stuff here. But the letter says—“

“That’s quite all right,” interrupted Ignis with a wave of his hand as relief swept through him. “We’re not here for the sword. The documents, however, can accompany us back to Lestallum.”

“Right. Uh…” There was an uncomfortable pause before Talcott stammered, “How, uh… How are you gonna… _read_ them?”

Smirking at his reticence, Ignis mildly suggested, “I suppose I’ll need to ask for your assistance one more time.”

As it turned out, he was vastly underestimating just how much help he would require as they stopped at some of the other tombs and gathered a rather impressive store of information that needed weeding through when they returned to Lestallum. Like his grandfather before him, Talcott never once complained. He became a nearly constant presence at Ignis’s side through their travels and never once begrudged him his lack of sight on the rare occasions that Ignis actually required his aid. It was a pleasant change, in a way—getting around on his own was a tremendous boon to his dignity as well as his sheer convenience, but it was always useful to have a set of working eyes that could catch the things he may have missed. Besides, it became frightfully obvious that Ignis wasn’t likely to read any of their findings on his own, and Talcott was a more willing accomplice than most would have been in the long hours they spent cobbling together the history behind their current predicament. He read aloud to Ignis, sometimes repeating the same sections when they happened across something important, and was even kind enough to record the data in Cid’s latest attempt at a voice-activated digital assistant (which was nice despite how annoying it was to have the blasted thing following him around the house whenever he was there).

In all their searching and compiling, their reading and exploring, one thing stood out starkly amidst the dark reality of their plight: Ardyn was not who they’d thought he was.

 _That appears to be the theme of this entire venture_ , thought Ignis, remembering the way the Chancellor had presented himself the first time they met at Galdin Quay. They’d already known him under two identities, and now it seemed that they would be adding a third to the list.

“So, he was a king,” Talcott realized, the confusion evident in his voice as he whispered, “Ardyn Lucis Caelum. Just like King Regis.”

“And Noctis,” agreed Ignis with a frown.

“Yeah… What does it mean by the Starscourge, though?”

Sighing, Ignis leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. It was difficult even now to think back to their trek through Zegnautus, but that, after all, was where all this started. “It began with a disease that turned humans into daemons long ago. If these records are to be believed, the Chancellor was king of Lucis at the time and was tasked with curing his people of the affliction.”

“Only to be branded a daemon himself…” Talcott tentatively trailed off, suddenly seeming rather unsure of himself.

“What is it?”

“Just… It makes you pity him a little, that’s all.”

Now _that_ was a sentiment Ignis had never considered feeling towards Ardyn Izunia. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Talcott hastened to elaborate, “I mean, just trying to help and having everyone turn against you? Kind of makes sense, him wanting to take down Lucis now.”

It _would_ have made sense, if that were all there was to the story. Unfortunately, it was never that simple, but Ignis simply hummed noncommittally. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have at this point even when the memories of their last encounter with Ardyn remained fresh in his mind. He remembered well what Gladio had said about the Chancellor the day Noctis disappeared, that he was unassailable and trailed darkness behind him like a monster of the night. He recalled the daemons they’d fought in Zegnautus and the disturbing records of how Magitek Armor came to be.

Whatever Ardyn was— _truly_ was—he was no innocent. After all he’d done, there was no pity in Ignis’s heart for him. His grievances gave him no justification for destroying their world, murdering their king, and taking their last hope away from them when he was needed most.

Ardyn Izunia, the usurper and false king, would pay for his crimes with his life. When the true king returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I was amazed at the reception this story received with just the first chapter--thank you for the feedback, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!


	3. Time Flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a mild and potentially unnoticeable spoiler for the scene before the final boss. Details are in the end notes. 
> 
> As we move to a different perspective, you'll notice that the narrative style is going to change as well. You will also find some descriptions of photos Prompto takes during the game (whether in missions or just at random), as well as a brief recollection of the introduction to the Episode Duscae demo in this chapter. Enjoy!

“I don’t know what to do, Iggy!”

“Oh, this again.”

“I’m serious—this is important!”

“Yes, I do believe it becomes increasingly urgent every time you call.”

“I just… I mean, it’s a terrible idea, right? She’s way outta my league.”

“Well now, I’m not so sure. You’ve made quite the name for yourself amongst the hunters if recent tales are to be believed.”

“Uh, kinda? I guess I’m pretty good,” hedged Prompto, scratching the back of his neck at the unexpected praise.

“Perhaps you could use that to your advantage.”

“If that was all it took, it would’a happened by now.”

“A fair observation.”

Sighing, Prompto fell back on his bed and muttered, “So, if that’s not good enough, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Here’s a novel idea: how about you _ask_?”

“Yeah, easy for you to say. What if she hates me?”

“Prompto, you’ve known Cindy for nearly six years now,” Ignis observed, his tone turning exasperated. “I doubt you’ll find she feels that strongly if she’s tolerated your presence this long.”

Prompto paused, glanced at his phone, and slowly replied, “I’m…not sure if that’s supposed to be _comforting_ or…?”

“Take it as you will. Regardless, you have quite the choice ahead of you,” evaded Ignis with expert grace he had to admire. Prompto grimaced nevertheless.

“I know, I know. I’m just not sure it’s worth it if everything else hasn’t worked after all this time.”

“I was referring to _who_ you would choose, but I suppose that’s an excellent point as well.”

Blinking, Prompto inquired, “Waaaaaait a sec, wha—?”

“At various points along our journey, you’ve expressed interest in Aranea and Iris, as well. Quite the pickle.”

“Whoa, wait, _Iris_?” sputtered Prompto, frantically shaking his head even though Ignis couldn’t exactly see him all the way from Lestallum. Or, you know, at all.

“I believe it was you who felt great enthusiasm for her cooking expertise?”

“I-I-I mean, that was just a—a passing _thought_ , y’know? Something new and _different_ , not—I wouldn’t—“

“Indeed,” Ignis interrupted his stammering thoughtfully. “I suppose that would create quite the conflict of interest.”

“If by _conflict of interest_ you mean _Gladio murdering me in my sleep_ , yeah, totally agree with ya there, buddy.”

There was a low chuckle over the line, then Ignis teased, “I suppose Aranea poses no such conflict? Although, she could just as easily kill you herself. I doubt she would appreciate someone else stepping in to do it for her.”

“Thanks, Iggy.”

“Much obliged.”

Rolling his eyes, Prompto stared up at the ceiling of the caravan where a photo—an old one now, he figured—returned his gaze. He remembered the day well: they’d just made it to Lestallum and met up with Iris, long before they’d found out all the bad things that were about to happen. They’d captured the shot right as the sun was setting, with the meteor glowing blue and red in the background. That had been a good day—a break from the Magitek engines constantly barraging them with so-called soldiers, a chance to catch up with some familiar faces that reminded them of home,  and one of the last opportunities for the four of them to be together without a fight or blame or guilt. Even with everything that had happened by that point, Noctis’s eyes were still bright and his smile was genuine. Sometimes Prompto couldn’t help wondering if the people in the photo had it better: getting to stay in the same great moment forever, never knowing what would happen to them mere days in the future.

_Or years._

“Prompto?” Ignis’s voice inquired, pulling him out of his stupor. “Are you all right?”

Prompto nodded, forgetting once again that they weren’t in the same room. That happened a lot even now. “Yeah, just…just thinking.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Shut up,” he chuckled. The momentary bit of humor faded, though, and Prompto frowned up at the photograph once again. “I guess I just…don’t know if it’s even worth the effort.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Scoffing, Prompto abruptly sat up and asked, “I mean, what’s the point, right? We’ve got bigger problems right now, and… When Noct gets back, we’ll be gone. Ardyn’s still waiting for us, and there’s no telling what’ll happen. Maybe… Maybe we won’t co—“

“All the more reason to take the chance now, I’d say,” interrupted Ignis in the same calm, collected way he always had of looking at the world. If he didn’t know any better, sometimes Prompto would swear Ignis didn’t feel human emotions the same way everyone else did—anger, worry, fear, everything just rolled right off as if he was coated in Aero Wax.

“Just doesn’t seem fair,” he countered morosely, staring down at his shoes. He could picture Ignis’s nod of agreement in his head and wondered, not for the first time, how their ragtag group of royal helpers had become so fragmented.

“I’m afraid very little in life is,” conceded Ignis with a sigh. “I don’t claim to have all the answers, nor can I say what will happen when the king returns, but I do know that now is the time to live your life, Prompto. The rest will inescapably follow.”

_Ain’t that the truth._

“There _is_ , however, one impediment I don’t believe you’ve considered.”

Frowning, Prompto hesitantly took the bait. “What’s that?”

“Where exactly you would take the fair lady if she said yes.”

Prompto let out a half-laugh, half-groan of frustration as he retorted, “Not like we’ve got a lot of options!”

“Not in Hammerhead. Lestallum still has a few treasures.”

“Yum. Refugee food.”

“I take great offense to that.”

 

***

 

Contrary to popular belief, there were a few reasons why Prompto chose to stick around Hammerhead, not all of which having to do with a certain mechanic. It wasn’t the popular decision, that was for sure. People didn’t really use it as a garage anymore; if they stopped, it was to get information about the next hunt or some much needed first aid. Usually, the latter wasn’t something they could provide fast enough to make a difference. When it came to anything _not_ related to a hunt, there really wasn’t a whole lot to do anymore. There was hunting, guarding the fence, and sleeping. Given the opportunity, Noctis probably would have been just fine with that.

 _Noct_ …

So maybe he was one of the reasons Prompto stuck around—not all, but a good bit. Call him sentimental, but Hammerhead was the first stop on their mess of a journey. That made it kind of special. Now that his feet weren’t aching and his hands didn’t have seemingly permanent window marks in them, he could even look back at having to push the Regalia all the way to the garage with a smile on his face. (A small smile. Really small. Like, microscopic.) They’d eaten at Takka’s—and done a hell of a lot of work for him—and bought out half the curatives in the shop. They’d stayed in the caravan together, playing King’s Knight and pretending the world wasn’t falling down around their ears.

Once Noctis disappeared, though, all that unraveled. He rarely saw Ignis anymore, and Gladio was off on his own most of the time. Their brotherhood had come apart at the seams, and maybe a little piece of Prompto stayed in Hammerhead because it helped him feel closer to them. It didn’t always work, but that was what phones were for.

Their missing friend wasn’t the only thing that kept him anchored to the place, though. Nostalgia was great and all, but Prompto had never been one to let the past chain him down. If he had, things probably would have turned out much differently.

“Hey!”

Mentally shaking himself, Prompto turned away from the sight of Insomnia—a dark shadow against an even darker backdrop—and raised a hand in greeting as Aranea approached the overlook. From the unimpressed expression she wore, it was pretty obvious she hadn’t meant _hey_ like _hi_.

“What’s with you today?” she demanded without preamble, stopping a foot away to fix him with her sternest glare. “We’ve got work to do, and your head’s not going to do us much good up in the clouds.”

“R-right… Sorry,” he tentatively replied, cringing under her penetrating gaze. She surveyed him for a long while, long enough that it was getting to be just _this_ side of awkward, then dropped her stance to something a little less intimidating.

“It’s got to be pretty tough, getting this close to the city,” she sighed, folding her arms across her chest and glancing over his shoulder at the skyline.

“Uh…”

“Home’s home no matter who’s sitting in the chair.”

Prompto felt the truth of her words right down to his bones and nodded somberly, setting his sights back on the Crown City. Yeah, it wasn’t his first home, but it was the one he’d chosen. He couldn’t even _remember_ living in Niflheim; the only thing he knew was what his adoptive parents had told him, and that wasn’t a whole lot. Regardless, where he was born didn’t matter to anyone—not to him and not to his friends. Insomnia was _home_. It was where he grew up, went to school, found his brothers…

It was another reason he rarely left Hammerhead, even to visit Ignis in Lestallum. He didn’t care that the city was deserted, that everyone he knew had either fled or died (if they were lucky), that Ardyn Izunia was sitting on the throne like he owned the place while they waited for Noctis to return—none of it was important. The city across the bridge? It still was and always would be his home, and he wouldn’t abandon it, not even temporarily. Prompto would keep an eye on the place until they could take it back someday.

Well, the metaphorical eye, anyway.

“All right, I think that’s enough wallowing for one day,” ordered Aranea, raising an eyebrow pointedly. “Things to do. Let’s go.”

Nodding, Prompto took one last look over his shoulder at the city awaiting liberation before sighing, “Right,” and following in her wake.

Working with Aranea wasn’t always easy, but there was a certain comfort in having her around. In a lot of ways, she reminded him of Gladio back before…well, _before_. It was a pretty rough deal, being the King’s Shield when there was no king around. Between him and Ignis, they’d sort of figured that that was why he spent so much time off on his own—he had to find some kind of purpose until Noct got back. Given that Aranea was eerily similar to how Gladio used to be sometimes, it was nice to hunt with her—or maybe nice wasn’t really the right word. Frustrating? Irritating? Eye roll-inducing? Yeah, those were probably a little closer to the mark.

With the city behind them and Prompto’s mind (mostly) back on the task at hand, they made short work of the daemons that had taken up residence in the winding labyrinth between the overlook and the road (which he was pretty sure they’d already put down, but whatever) and started heading back towards Hammerhead. What was supposed to be a routine patrol of the area had turned into a level of King’s Knight pretty fast, but that was only to be expected. If they’d thought the daemon outbreak had been bad a few years back, it was nothing compared to the situation now. The longer the darkness lasted, the more the daemons seemed to spawn, which meant areas that had once been at least bearable were now forbidden territory. Still, someone had to clear it all out before they encroached too much on the last bastions of Lucis. Now that they were down to basically just Hammerhead and Lestallum… Well, there was no point thinking about what would happen if the daemons were allowed to get too close.

It was a tough job, but someone had to do it. Lots of someones, really. All the hunters left and droves of new ones were heading out every day to clear what they could despite knowing that it was a hopeless venture, just staving off the inevitable for a little longer. Some days, everyone came back in one piece; others, they were lucky if those pieces weren’t shoved in a bag. Legends were made amongst the hunters now, and according to Ignis, he’d become one of them. (Ignis always seemed to conveniently forget that he was _also_ something of a legend—how many blind people were out there kicking ass and taking names? One, that’s how many.)

Being a legend wasn’t really up Prompto’s alley, though. Sure, it was pretty cool to dangle in front of Gladio’s face on the rare occasion when they saw each other or use to impress Cindy, but otherwise he would have been content to just hunt in peace. Strike that—he would have been content to not _have_ to hunt at all, but that wasn’t really an option, so he was making the best of a bad situation. It was something he tried not to think too much about; dwelling on it was too depressing, and thinking about what the future would hold was pointless. Until Noct got back, they were just as stuck in stasis as he was. Wherever he was.

_Speaking of stasis…_

“Ugh,” groaned Prompto, leaning against a guardrail and pulling off his left boot. “I miss the Regalia. All this walking is killing my feet.”

“Tell me, is _everyone_ from the Crown City this whiny, or is it just you?” rejoined Aranea sarcastically without breaking stride. Glancing between her and his shoe, he quickly shook out the rock that had gotten wedged in the toe (that stuff seriously hurt!) and hurried to catch up.

“I’m not whiny!”

“Really.”

“Just pointing out a fact!” exclaimed Prompto defensively.

Rolling her eyes, Aranea countered, “Sounded like a pretty whiny fact to me.”

Prompto waved a hand at her and shook his head. “This is nothing. You should see Noct first thing in the morning.”

“And here I thought royalty was supposed to be the suffer-in-silence type.”

“Heeeeeeeell no!” He couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of a morning early on in their journey, when it had taken Gladio literally dragging Noct upright for him to even _begin_ to come around—and that was only _after_ Ignis had stuck the alarm by his head and Gladio gave him a few whacks for good measure. “If there’s one thing you don’t do, it’s wake Noct up before he’s ready. Now _that’s_ whining right there.”

That prompted a laugh. “Guess I’ll have to keep that in mind. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re still ridiculous for a _legendary hunter_ , but it’s nice to know.”

“First the Regalia, now you—I just can’t catch a break,” he lamented with an indignant huff.

“Join the club,” retorted Aranea, a jagged edge beneath the easygoing tone of her words now. It was no wonder: she’d given up everything just like the rest of them, but Prompto could tell she felt pretty guilty about things. After all, she’d helped orchestrate this whole mess without even knowing it; Ardyn had used her just the same as he did everything and everyone else. Emperor Aldercapt, Ravus, Aranea—they were all pawns in the bigger game between kings. Ignis was positive that it would have happened regardless of their involvement, but they definitely helped things along.

That wasn’t a conversation he was going to have with her, though; he was smart enough to know better. It was a little like approaching a wild chocobo: you figured out just how close you could get and stopped before your hand got torn off. In Aranea’s case, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t just be a hand.

“ _Would_ be nice to have a car we could use, though,” he mused, reverting back to their original subject to avoid the impending train wreck. “Think about it: you get in and just mow those daemons down.”

Seeming to appreciate the out, Aranea hummed and disinterestedly pointed out, “That’s fine for the little ones. You’d need a pretty big car to take down the big guys.”

“True. Could always see if Cindy can cook something up.”

“She probably has ten designs ready and is just waiting for the parts.”

“You think?!”

“No.”

 

***

 

A rhythmic banging was what woke Prompto up. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know it was _way_ before his alarm was supposed to go off.

Mumbling blearily, he rolled over onto his side and buried his face in his pillow. Someone else could find out what it was whoever decided _now_ was a good time to visit wanted—he was going back to sleep.

That, of course, was asking too much.

“Prompto, get the door,” ordered Ignis, his voice thick with sleep.

“Why meeeeeee?” he whined into the fabric. “You’re closer!”

There was a pause. “And _you_ can actually see who it is.”

_Damn. Touché._

“You never use that excuse when it’s not…three in the morning?!” he groaned after a glance at the clock, finding the strength to roll off the mattress anyway. In the murky light coming in from the street, he spied Ignis on the other bed facing away from him, still nice and warm and comfortable under the covers because he was _mean_.

“I’m simply helping you train your night vision.”

“It’s been dark outside for almost eight years—I think I’m trained up.”

There was another knock on the door, louder this time, and Ignis observed, “Whoever’s out there might break it down if you don’t get a move on.”

“If they do, _you’re_ fixing it,” grunted Prompto, running a hand through his hair and stumbling towards the door. At this point, they would be lucky if he didn’t give them a piece of his mind before finding out why they were here at this ungodly hour, a thought which made him pause for a moment before turning the knob. Either he was getting old or he was channeling Noct—he’d go with the latter. It sounded better.

If any part of him had still been sleeping, it perked right up when he opened the door to find Gladio leaning casually against the frame with his arms folded across his chest, looking like it was totally _normal_ for him to be here.

“Gladio?” Prompto blurted out blankly. He blinked a few times, thinking maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him given that it was _too damn early for this_ , but Gladio was still there a second later.

“What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” observed Gladio as he pushed his way past Prompto into the house.

Ignis, who had apparently found the motivation to get up and turn on the lights, retorted, “You may as well be a ghost for how often we see you these days.”

Grunting, Gladio collapsed onto the foot of Prompto’s bed and shrugged. “Been busy.”

“Clearly.”

“Heard you guys have had a lot to do around here, too.”

It was strange to exchange a glance with Ignis when he knew the latter couldn’t see, but somehow they managed it just the same. It had to have been—what, six months since they’d seen Gladio? Come to think of it, it was probably more like a year. They’d been kept busy by the steady stream of daemons throughout Lucis and influx of refugees from pretty much everywhere else. The last time they’d all been in the same room was when they happened to be in Hammerhead at the same time. It didn’t happen often, and it was even rarer that they passed each other in the field, so this was…different. In the best possible way. Maybe.

“The hell is that on your face, Prompto?”

_Actually, no. Not good at all._

“What’s _what_?” he asked, feeling his skin for whatever abnormality Gladio spotted that he hadn’t had a chance to deal with yet.

Squinting, Gladio made a show of leaning forward to take a closer look at him and explained, “That shit on your chin. It looks like you glued Cindy’s hair to your face.”

Never in his life had Prompto’s jaw hit the floor so hard. It took a few seconds of indignant sputtering for him to eventually grind out, “It’s _my_ hair!”

“Oh,” Gladio mused with a (rather sarcastically) impressed whistle. “What d’you know? Guess our little Prompto’s all grown up.”

“A proud day indeed,” agreed Ignis solemnly.

“ _Really_?! All this time and _that’s_ what you wanna talk about?”

“Yup.”

Prompto opened his mouth, found he had no scathing remark to throw back at him, and settled for an angry huff instead as he dropped down to sit on the other side of the mattress and glare. The way it seemed to amuse Gladio further was possibly more irritating than anything else. It was hard to tell whether Ignis knew it or not, but Prompto was grateful nonetheless when he changed the subject.

“As entertaining as discussing Prompto’s facial hair is—“

_Isn’t! Totally isn’t!_

“—perhaps you’d care to explain why you’re here?”

Despite the careful neutrality of the scolding, Gladio still had the sense to look a little abashed while he hedged, “What, a guy can’t stop by to see his friends?”

For a blind guy, Ignis was _really_ good at the _Are You Serious™_ look.

“Dude, it’s three in the morning,” added Prompto for good measure. He was still a little bitter about that. Just a little.

“Right,” Gladio muttered, clearing his throat. “Y’see, I was hoping to get your help with something, and it really can’t wait.”

“That much is fairly obvious,” observed Ignis lightly as he perched on the opposite bed and donned his glasses. Although his injuries had long since healed, he preferred to keep the specs for reasons Prompto wasn’t sure he really understood. If it were him, he wouldn’t have bothered—too much trouble when you’re in the middle of a fight. He had to admit that it _did_ make it seem more like the time before Altissia for him to have them, though; if they squinted, they could pretend the scars weren’t there and he was just ready for a trip to the beach. Anything to escape reality for a minute was fine by him, so he wasn’t about to bring it up.

Gladio nodded in affirmation and fell silent for a minute to pull together whatever it was he had to say. There wasn’t much of a reason for it, but the furtive glance he shot at Prompto made him feel like tiny icicles were poking at the outside of his stomach.

“I was taking out a flan infestation in Duscae when I noticed a bunch of Magitek Armor heading north.”

“Magitek?” Ignis interjected sharply, frowning. “I was under the impression they had all gone rogue.”

With another nod, Gladio confirmed, “So was I. These ones were definitely under someone’s control, though. They looked just like the old days of the empire.”

“Which means Ardyn was probably pulling the strings,” guessed Prompto with a shudder. He hated MTs as a rule, but having _them_ out there on top of the daemons was more than any of them needed right now.

“Probably. They were hauling this huge shipping crate when I took them out. Based on their route, I’d say they were headed for the Crown City.”

“And what was inside?” inquired Ignis with cautious curiosity. Something told Prompto that if Ardyn had anything to do with it, they probably didn’t want to know.

“You got me,” shrugged Gladio, leaning back on his hands and staring at the ceiling. “It had one of those locks on it like the one we found in Zegnautus. The one on the device that locked up Noct’s weapons.”

“So…”

“I’m the only one who can open it,” Prompto finished for him. Now the cold feeling in his stomach started to make sense, only it grew a thousand times worse at the prospect of having to use his weird little tattoo thing again for anything.

Gladio, in a moment of humorless understanding, leveled him with a sympathetic look, but it was Ignis who ultimately said what they were all thinking.

“If Ardyn is the one behind it, he knows that Prompto is the only one who can gain access to whatever is inside.”

“And that _we_ know it too,” added Gladio.

“Indeed. Whatever the MTs were transporting may very well be for us.”

Grimacing, Prompto skeptically remarked, “You really think he’s gonna hand us a gift after all this time? Why would he do that?”

“Knowing him, I doubt it’ll be much of a gift,” snorted Gladio derisively. “Probably something way nastier than that.”

“Nothing too dangerous, though.”

“How do you figure that, Iggy?”

Ignis shook his head. “Ardyn wants everything to be perfect for his final showdown with Noctis. He doesn’t just want to defeat the _king_ , but every tool at his disposal as well. It’s why he let Noct find the Crystal in the first place—so that he could gain the power of the True King.”

“Aaaaaaand _then_ he could kill him.” _Because_ that _makes total sense_ , Prompto added to himself.

“Precisely. He’s had ample opportunity in the past to permanently remove us from Noct’s side and has yet to do so. If this little delivery _is_ meant for us, it won’t be anything that will incapacitate us for long. Otherwise, Noctis would be on his own, and Ardyn clearly doesn’t want that.”

“This guy spends way too much time coming up with convoluted plans,” grumbled Gladio, rolling his eyes.

“Well, when you live forever…”

That little tidbit was still something Prompto had a hard time wrapping his head around. It was hard to deny that it sounded spot on when Ignis told him a couple of years ago, though. After everything that happened, the one constant was that Ardyn _never_ died. It didn’t matter what they did or how—he was like a bug that you kept crushing with your shoe, but there were grooves in the sole that the little abomination kept crawling under so you could never hit it _just right_ to kill it. According to Ignis, the difference was that Ardyn had been doing it for a really really really _really_ long time, apparently just waiting for the day when he could take down the royal line of Lucis and get revenge on them for…something. Prompto still wasn’t very clear on that part, but one thing was for sure: Ardyn was one petty bastard.

“So, what do you say?” asked Gladio, effectively bringing that line of thought to a halt. “We team up like the old days?”

“It’s up to Prompto,” shrugged Ignis as he leaned back in his seat and did that creepy thing where he looked _right_ at Prompto even though he couldn’t see him.

Unsettling as it was, he could put that aside and focus on the fact that he would have to do the one thing he _never_ wanted to do ever again. There had only been one occasion when he’d needed to use his heritage to his advantage, and he’d decided afterward that once they got out of Zegnautus, he would go right back to treating it like some weird tattoo and ignore it. So far, he’d done a pretty good job of it; only on the rarest occasions did he catch a glimpse of it on his wrist and get lost in thoughts of what would have been had things gone differently. Having to actually _use_ it, though…

Prompto looked away from the other two and bit his lip, knowing that the answer he wanted to give them wasn’t really the one they needed. It wasn’t the answer that would be expected from a member of the Crownsguard, even though he technically still wasn’t one.

As his eyes surveyed pretty much anything they could besides the people waiting for his consent to this little mission, they fell on the collage of pictures Ignis had put on the wall by his bed. They were copies of ones Prompto had taken on their trip, and although he didn’t really get the purpose of having them when Ignis couldn’t see them, Prompto had made sure to oblige him when he asked. It was so infrequent that Ignis ever requested anything that it felt wrong to deny him, especially something as important as those photos.

Right in the middle was a shot of Noct at one of the Royal Tombs—it had been so long that Prompto couldn’t even remember which one. (They all looked the same anyway, so he figured it was all right.) It struck him then that they were in the same position: the choice between accepting their heritage, however grudgingly, or walking away from it. For Noct, the choice had practically been made for him; he wasn’t about to let the world fall apart when he was the True King the legends spoke of. So he’d accepted the mission Cor laid out for him to find the weapons of his ancestors and gain their powers.

Noctis would be so disappointed if Prompto decided to forsake his own origins and refuse to help Gladio and Ignis now. After all, he was the one who said where Prompto came from wasn’t a big deal—that it wasn’t his roots that defined him, and that he was one of them no matter what. That wasn’t going to change because of a barcode that happened to be useful every now and again. Noct didn’t let it and neither would he.

So, taking a deep breath and nodding resolutely, he said, “Let’s go find some imperial booty.”

“Excellent,” approved Gladio with a smile as he clapped Prompto on the shoulder. “This should be a piece of cake.”

And surprisingly…it _was_.

Okay, so the walking part sucked. Like, _really_ sucked. Prompto had at least been able to hitch a ride with Talcott to Lestallum, but there were no vehicles available to get them back to Duscae, which meant…

“Remember when we had chocobos? And the Regalia? Man, those were the days.”

“Wuss.”

Apparently, some things never changed.

The nice thing about it being dark all the time was that you never knew how long it took to get anywhere without checking your phone. Sure, there was still the barest illumination behind the clouds of photophilic particles that told them where the sun (or was it the moon?) might be, but it wasn’t really enough to make a dent in the pervasive shadows. Depending on the day and your mood, it meant everything seemed to go much faster or impossibly slower than usual. Prompto had thought the latter would be the case given how far they had to walk, but it turned out that time was moving pretty quick. Maybe it was the fact that the three of them were together again after far too long, trading barbs and telling stories of their hunts the way they used to years ago. It was…nice. And Prompto had no idea how much he’d missed it until just that moment.

Whatever the reason may have been, the trip to Gladio’s wayward box took no time at all, and Prompto whistled as he stared up at it in awe.

“Whoa… That thing’s _huge_!”

“I told you.”

“And only standard MTs were carrying it?” inquired Ignis with a frown. He may not have been able to see it for himself, but Prompto thought his own reaction might have given him a taste of the sheer magnitude of their plunder.

“More like dragging it,” Gladio confirmed, folding his arms over his chest. “Would’ve thought Ardyn would have something bigger pushing this thing around. It’s not like he’s running low on daemons.”

Nodding slowly, Ignis mused, “Instead he chose a relatively easy enemy to defeat. He’s either vastly underestimating the hunters, or…”

“It…really is meant for us,” finished Prompto, taking a hesitant step forward. He could see the scanner on the side of the enormous box just waiting for him to activate it. Forcing out a nervous laugh, he pointed out, “Well, no time like the present.”

“Hang on.” Gladio put a hand on his shoulder to pull him back, moving closer to their prize. “Don’t want that door opening and a swarm of daemons coming out, right?”

“Not sure we can really avoid that.”

“I thought you said you checked for any signs of life,” Ignis remarked, although Prompto noticed he’d taken a few steps away from the crate as well.

Gladio shrugged. “I did, but that was before I left it alone out here to get you guys.”

“Y’know, you _could_ have just called us,” asserted Prompto, swallowing hard.

“It took long enough to get you to open the door. Phone’s easier to ignore.”

“…Okay, yeah.”

Smirking, Gladio approached the crate and pressed his palm right up against the metal. All three of them seemed to hold their breath in unison while he moved around the box, feeling for any vibrations from the other side. At one point, Ignis moved to join him, claiming that his own senses would be more attuned than even Gladio’s thanks to his disability. Gladio opened his mouth to argue, seemed to think better of it, and shut the hell up.

“I believe, gentlemen, that we are either dealing with something inanimate or Ardyn is being his usual tricky self,” Ignis eventually proclaimed, taking a step back and making his way towards Prompto again.

“So, basically it’s a tossup,” summarized Gladio. True to form, his wary eyes never left the door they were about to open.

“Essentially, yes.”

“Great. Nothin’ like a gamble to take the edge off.”

“Prompto, whenever you’re ready.”

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered, taking a few aborted steps toward the scanner. “Right…”

A hand descended on his shoulder a moment later, and he turned to find himself mere inches away from Ignis. It still amazed Prompto that he could move so fast sometimes—if _he_ were the one who couldn’t see anything, he’d be tripping over himself.

Correction: tripping over himself more than usual.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” Ignis told him quietly, his eyes barely visible behind his lenses. There was still concern there even though everything else had fled.

Sighing, Prompto shook his head and pulled away. “No. I do.”

With that, he turned his back on Ignis and Gladio to stand in front of the scanner. He could hear his friends readying their weapons behind him and tried to fight off the wave of nausea that threatened to paralyze him before he could do what must be done—they were just making sure they had his back, that’s all. They didn’t _actually_ think anything was going to come barreling out to kill them all…did they?

_Well, guess we’re gonna find out. Now or never!_

He pulled in a deep breath and held it as he put his wrist before the scanner. It took a mere fraction of a second for the light to turn green and the doors to creak open, revealing—

“Huh?”

“That’s…it?” Gladio scoffed, something like mingled disdain and amusement in his tone. Prompto couldn’t help but agree as he stared at the piles of heavy chains their flashlights revealed in the even darker gloom of the crate. They’d been expecting something very different—no idea what, but just not this.

Something clicked in his head a second later, and he felt all his limbs go cold.

“Y-you don’t think these chains were…holding something _in_ , do you?” he asked tentatively, backing up towards where he’d left Gladio and Ignis. The former hummed in thought.

“I doubt it. Whatever it is would have been huge. I’d have heard it before.”

“And there was no way for it to escape until you opened the door,” added Ignis thoughtfully, although his expression didn’t exude a great deal of confidence. “However, you are on to an interesting point, Prompto.”

Blinking, Prompto stuttered, “I, uh… I am?”

Ignis nodded. “If the chains weren’t being used to _transport_ something, that would mean Ardyn has plans for them should they reach Insomnia.”

“And with this much metal, it’s gotta be something big. Whatever it is,” muttered Gladio, his eyes narrowed at the lines of iron links stacked higher than they were tall inside the crate.

“The question is: why does he need them now, after all these years?”

“Because he’s planning something.”

“And if he’s actively planning again…”

It hit Prompto like the smell of fresh chocobo turds first thing in the morning. “Then maybe Noct is coming back soon!”

“Perhaps,” Ignis evaded carefully, his brows furrowed in doubt. “At the very least, Ardyn may think he is.”

Gladio grunted. “He’s been around long enough for his hunches to be pretty accurate, I’d say.”

“You don’t think…” Prompto trailed off, all the excitement that had filled him moments before ebbing away as a grotesque image filled his mind’s eye. “You don’t think he plans to use these _on_ Noct, do you?”

“It’s a little overkill if he is,” Gladio replied skeptically. Prompto didn’t miss the way his stance shifted into something a little more protective even without their missing prince beside them, though.

“It’s not a chance we should readily take regardless,” observed Ignis briskly, moving to close the door of the crate with a loud bang. “Perhaps it would behoove us to find a better use for these.”

And find one they did. Cindy was over the moon (if there was a moon) when she got a load of their haul and immediately set to figuring out how to retrieve the crate before MTs did it for them. It was pretty cute, the way she got all excited and started rambling on about just how many weapons they could make out of the chains—and, if they were lucky, parts for cars.

“The first one would go to y’all,” she assured them with a grin, “as a big ol’ thank you for the donation.”

“That will hardly be necessary,” Ignis waved her off as Prompto glared daggers at him.

“Yeah,” agreed Gladio, shooting him a snarky grin. “We like the exercise anyway.”

There was a quick pause, then Cindy shrugged her shoulders. “Well, if y’all are sure!”

_Just can’t. Catch. A break._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the potential spoiler, those chains were intended for the grotesque, macabre scene at the end where Ardyn uses them to suspend the Crystal and four of his victims from the ceiling of the citadel's throne room. These ones obviously don't make it to Insomnia, but it's a bit of a sneak peek of what's to come for our heroes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Also, to everyone who has subscribed, bookmarked, commented, or left kudos, thank you so much for the feedback!


	4. The Battle Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! I hope you enjoyed the holiday and wish you all the best for the coming year!
> 
> Two things to be aware of in this chapter: first, that there is a reference to the third episode of the "Final Fantasy XV: Brotherhood" anime. If you have not watched that yet, there will only be mild spoilers. (Also, you should go watch it--it's fantastic!) Second, there are instances where Umbra is referred to as a Messenger. Although it wasn't _technically_ confirmed in the game, the Book of Cosmogony shows the likeness of both Umbra and Pryna amongst the Six, and given that we know Gentiana isn't the Messenger as we are originally led to believe, I've taken the liberty of addressing Umbra as such.

Sidestep. Hit. Dodge. Roll. Throw. Slash. Sidestep. Hit. Hit. Hit. _Hit._

Gladio ducked beneath the Iron Giant’s mighty blade, sliding on his knees between its legs and bringing his sword up to slash at its back. The daemon was faster than it looked and met his blow with its giant weapon as it turned into the attack. The weight it threw behind the motion sent Gladio flying, and he felt all the air painfully erupt from his chest when he hit something hard and jagged. Gasping for breath, he pushed himself onto his knees and glared up at the daemon with all the venom he could muster. It didn’t stop a bark of laughter from making its way through his frustration, however.

“So, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? All right, you asked for it.”

Adjusting his grip on his greatsword, Gladio hardly took a moment to regain his bearings before diving forward and swinging in three wide arcs. It was strange to know that there would be no follow-up, no one warping in to take the last hit, but he pushed that as far from his mind as he could. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted. He had a job to finish here.

The blow made contact with the daemon’s knees, sending it toppling to the ground and effectively breaking through its defense. This was what he’d been waiting for.

Gladio jumped high in the air, brought his sword around, and drove it right through the Iron Giant’s neck.

 _“Nice work, Gladio!”_ he heard echoing in the distance as the daemon’s head rolled off and it vanished in a blast of murky black shadows.

Staggering in a circle, Gladio surveyed the darkness, just waiting for something else to lash out at him. That seemed to be all that happened today: no matter where he went, the daemons were waiting to strike. It was their reality now, although he’d heard plenty of other hunters talking about the same thing—that the infestation was getting even worse than it had been when all this started three years ago. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, but it was dangerous to be out alone anymore, and most hunters traveled in packs to avoid the inevitable ambush they would eventually run into.

Gladio had been invited to join more than one of those partnerships and declined every time. It wasn’t that he particularly _enjoyed_ fighting on his own, but the alternative wasn’t really something he was ready for. He wasn’t sure he ever would be.

With a sigh of relief, he forced his mind back to the task at hand and found that he was all right for now. There were no daemons nearby, though he could see the glow of them in the distance. In a world without light, it was actually pretty easy to find the enemy. They were the only ones out here most of the time, after all.

_Well. Guess that takes care of that._

Another day, another horde of daemons taken down. He was actually starting to lose count of how many he managed to fell in a day, which was either something to be proud of or pretty damn depressing. Since there was no telling how much time passed anymore without checking a clock, it was easy to spend hours absorbed in battle, letting it move you further and further into the darkness until you couldn’t find the light anymore.

After accommodating to the new normal, he’d fallen into his present routine: get up, eat, fight, find his way back. The last part was usually pretty interesting; he never _meant_ to go as far from civilization as he ended up, but the choice was taken away from him over the course of the day. He fought and fought and fought some more until his exhaustion told him it was time to turn in—then there was the walk. Maps were useless without being able to see key landmarks, so it was a guessing game to figure out which direction you’d come from or what you’d find if you just kept walking. In another time, he could have used the meteor, but it was just as dark as the rest of Lucis, the Archaean having long abandoned them to accompany Noct into oblivion.

Growling at his misstep, Gladio shook his head and stomped off in what he _thought_ was the direction of Caem. He could hear the ocean waves crashing against the rocks somewhere in the distance, barely loud enough to break the silence that surrounded him, and figured it was as good a spot to head for as any. Unfortunately, there was no way he’d be making it back to civilization anytime soon.

The biggest problem with going it alone? It left too much time to think, something Gladio hated these days. The battle took the edge off of pretty much everything until he could lose himself to the rhythm. It was what he’d always been good at, and it had gotten him this far. That _was_ why he’d been chosen to train King Regis’s beloved son when they could just as easily have gotten someone else to do it.

“Don’t go there,” he reminded himself sternly.

It was too late, though. His mind seemed to be punishing him these days with images of times past and a sense of hiraeth he could never fully shake. He’d been waging his own private war against it all, shoving away intrusive thoughts and blocking out the memories in favor of doing something useful. There wasn’t _time_ to break down. That was for weaker people, the ones who hid in Lestallum and felt sorry for themselves over all they’d lost. He was a hunter. He was the King’s Shield. He was an Amicitia, and like hell he was going to go to pieces over some hard knocks.

So he kept moving. From what he’d heard, Prompto and Ignis did the same. That was their duty as members of the Crownsguard—unofficially, in Prompto’s case.

As it turned out, even his former companions weren’t a safe subject, and he felt the tug of longing in his chest he frequently smothered when the loneliness of his road began to plague him. It wasn’t often—he’d trained himself out of that pretty early on—but when it hit him, it was potent. Images of tents and campfires and car rides would fill his mind until he started doubting his decision to go it alone.

Then the rest would come back, and he’d know he was doing the right thing.

Thankfully, Gladio didn’t have time to dwell today. As he trekked towards the coast, enough daemons barred his way to keep his traitorous brain occupied. They were insatiable, but then again, so was he.

By the time he made it to the lighthouse, a silent sentinel in the seemingly eternal darkness, he was practically falling over from exhaustion. He didn’t regret it, though: that meant he would fall asleep fast and, if he was lucky, avoid dreaming anything that might make matters worse. If his waking mind was difficult to rein in, his unconscious one was damn near impossible most of the time. And in a place like this that held so many memories… Well, if he’d had another choice of accommodations, he’d have taken it.

Caem was one of the few places that hadn’t been ravaged by daemons, not that anyone really knew that except Gladio. When they’d returned from Niflheim, it was to discover that the world had lost all its light and everyone was scrambling to find a safe place to batten down the hatches. Galdin Quay was in ruins, and the rest of the coast was littered with rocks just beneath the surface, which fittingly left Caem as the only place they could dock King Regis’s boat without destroying it and probably getting themselves killed in the process. They’d expected to find the place overrun, but to their infinite surprise, no daemons would come within an inch of the place. At the time, it was smarter to make tracks right away, yet the more Gladio came back on his wayward journeys, the clearer it became: something about Caem kept the daemons at bay. He still couldn’t figure out what it was—a dormant blessing of the gods, a lingering memory of the king’s power, pure coincidence—but he wasn’t about to look a gift chocobo in the mouth. Safe spaces were rare enough these days that you did what you had to.

If that happened to require camping out at the one place most likely to remind you of the past when you desperately wanted to forget it for a while, well, that was that. Gladio was a realist, so he rolled with the punches as they were thrown.

Unfortunately, they started coming the second he got there.

First, it was Prompto’s voice complaining about all the walking as he trudged up the deteriorating steps toward the lighthouse. Then it was Noctis’s sigh of mixed parts frustration and disgust at the idea of planting _vegetables_. When he activated the elevator, it was the ghostly sight of them gathering together for one of their last pictures before leaving Lucis— _seaside supermodels_ , Prompto had called them. As he descended the steps into the harbor and collapsed on the sofa, it was the weary footsteps of a group of protectors returning to their homeland with no one to protect.

So maybe that wasn’t true. Shortly after they returned from Niflheim, they’d realized that they _did_ still have people to defend: Iris, Cindy, Talcott, and the rest of Lucis needed someone to watch their backs until the king was ready to take down Ardyn once and for all. Gladio had taken up the mission gladly, as had Prompto; based on what he’d been hearing from the other hunters, Ignis was getting there as well. Still, it didn’t change the fact that their charge wasn’t here, and it left a hole in their lives and hearts that never should have existed.

Even so, Gladio didn’t have any regrets. He’d done what he was supposed to, the duty of the king’s sworn shield alongside that of a friend and brother, and he wouldn’t have taken another road if the opportunity lay before him. This was the path they were supposed to walk, and Gladio would do it without looking back.

Regret wasn’t something he allowed much quarter. The real problem was that he _had_ done everything he could—and it still wasn’t enough.

In spite of all the training and preparation and reconnaissance and caution—despite it _all_ , he’d still failed to protect those who meant the most to him. Iggy was just about completely blind; the fact that he was slowly getting back to his old self notwithstanding, he would never be the person he was before, nor would he be able to see the return of their king. Prompto had been captured and subjected to horrors he still refused to talk about even three years later. Gladio doubted he ever would, which left far too much to the imagination.

And Noct… Shit, he didn’t even know where to begin there. Again, he had no regrets—everything he’d told Noctis was the truth, and he wouldn’t take it back. Someone had to be there to shake him when he fell into the trap of pitying himself too much; someone needed to smack him upside the head and tell him when he was being an idiot. That job had fallen to him, and he’d accepted it as part of his oath. After all, what would become of them all if Noctis couldn’t be the king they needed?

True or not, however, perhaps there were better ways of going about it that didn’t involve fighting or chilly silence for weeks on end. Maybe Ignis had been right when he told Gladio that pushing Noctis to be ready too soon would be just as bad as not pushing at all. Instead, their last few weeks together had been heated and tense, almost right up until they lost Prompto.

When had he gone back to being that person? That angry, contemptuous fifteen-year-old who couldn’t _stand_ the prince much less protect him… He’d thought he left that kid behind, that those sentiments were a thing of the past after what Noct had done for Iris. From that day forward, their relationship had turned around, and Gladio could hardly imagine feeling the same way again. They’d become closer than brothers, and Noct had been able to come to him for anything, no matter how foolish it had seemed. How, then, did their bond fray so much in the span of just a few short weeks?

 _That_ was the thought Gladio dreaded: that one of his best friends in the world had spent his last moments in Eos alone, with only a recent truce to ease the sting of his Shield’s disdain.

Huffing out a weary breath, Gladio leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands over his face. _This_ was why he hated being on his own sometimes. He knew it was better this way—that he wasn’t going to let anyone else down when there was no one there to disappoint—but it left way too much time for him to dwell on things that were best left alone. None of it did him or anyone else any good. What was done was done, and the path that was laid before him? He had to keep walking it. Spending all his time going back over his failings would cripple him, and he’d already let that happen to one person too many.

A high-pitched whine caught his attention, and Gladio lifted his head with something akin to a smile to see Umbra at his feet, staring up at him with those slightly unnerving eyes of his.

“Hey, pal,” he murmured, reaching out to ruffle his fur. “You here to check on me?”

Umbra replied with an aborted bark before hopping up onto the couch beside him and laying his head on Gladio’s knee. Smirking, Gladio rolled his eyes and leaned back to get more comfortable.

“I’m doing just fine. Thanks for asking.”

This had somehow also become a common occurrence that Gladio couldn’t quite work out. Either Umbra had a system he wasn’t privy to or it was purely random, but the Messenger frequently came to find him in the few moments of rest he allowed himself. It was always the same story: he’d settle in, then Umbra would show up and be gone by the time he woke up.

And, as always, Gladio checked the sash he wore around his chest to find it empty. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered anymore—Umbra had never come delivering anything that wasn’t for Noct. Hell, the fact that he was still hanging around at all when Noct wasn’t there managed to surprise him every time he saw the canine Messenger.

At one point early on, Gladio had mentioned the situation to Ignis, who had been just as unsure as he was. They both thought that Umbra would eventually stop coming altogether once he realized that his charge wasn’t there to be found, but it never happened. In fact, the more frequently Umbra showed up, the more Ignis began to wonder whether it was a sign of its own. Gladio, however, wasn’t so sure about that. Nothing different ever happened when Umbra came around, and all he ever gave Gladio was some companionship in the otherwise solitary darkness.

Of course, that was also something of a mystery: Umbra only ever appeared to Gladio. As far as he knew, neither Ignis nor Prompto had seen him themselves in years.

“You just like me best, huh?” he muttered, scratching Umbra idly behind the ears and closing his eyes.  The dog didn’t dignify that with a response.

Gladio shook his head and sighed, “Yeah, can’t blame you there.”

 

***

 

 _Whoever said that knowing you were dreaming made it better was full of shit. Gladio had been reminded of that too many times to count over the last seven years, and he doubted he was the only one. No matter how many times he had the same dream or how_ real _it always felt, it never made getting to the end any less disturbing._

_The vision always started the same way, coincidentally in a fashion that made it pretty obvious the whole thing wasn’t real: the sun was shining._

_Gladio woke up to Ignis’s alarm blaring through their tent and stretched as he tried to pull himself closer to consciousness (which was an odd thing to do when you were literally inside a dream). Unsurprisingly, Iggy had already been up for some time if the lack of wrinkles in his clothes and the near-perfect coif of his hair was anything to go by. They nodded to each other in greeting while Prompto groaned his way to alertness, and Noct lay sprawled out on the opposite side of the tent without stirring like the slug he always was first thing in the morning._

_With a sigh of exasperation (irritation had fled long ago), Ignis pushed his phone closer to Noct’s head until it was right next to his ear. Even the highest volume couldn’t penetrate the royal wall of laziness, though, and Noct sniffed in his sleep as he rolled over onto his side._

_Prompto chuckled under his breath and remarked, “Y’know, I think he’d sleep through a garula stampede.”_

_“Perhaps it would be best not to test that theory,” retorted Ignis without actually denying it. Gladio figured if anyone could do it, Noct would be the one._

_“The Six could be knocking on the door and he probably wouldn’t twitch,” mumbled Gladio, only half joking as he pushed himself up onto his knees to wake their slumbering friend. “Come on, princess, you’re wasting daylight.”_

_Nothing._

_Rolling his eyes, Gladio grabbed his shoulder and shook roughly, already knowing it wouldn’t work but giving it a shot anyway._

_Nothing._

_He was about to try a few smacks, which usually yielded better results, when a thunderous_ boom _rent the air and shook the ground beneath them. Gladio frowned, his hand frozen over Noct’s_ still _sleeping form, as he demanded, “The hell was that?”_

_“M-maybe that stampede?” suggested Prompto with wide eyes filled with trepidation._

_The ground quaked once again, the noise closer this time, and Ignis sarcastically replied, “If it’s a stampede of behemoths, perhaps. Gladio, wake Noct. Now.”_

_“On it,” he grunted, turning back to see that Noct hadn’t budged an inch. Seriously, he was starting to wonder if maybe this was something to start looking into. Now wasn’t the time to fret about it, though, and he slapped Noct’s back a few times until the prince stirred. “Noct, get up. We’ve got a problem.”_

_Grumbling drowsily under his breath, Noct slowly opened his dark blue eyes to stare blearily up at Gladio as he finally returned to consciousness. Coherent sentences were apparently out of his reach for the moment, though, so Gladio took his confused glare as an unspoken question._

_“Let’s go, Your Highness. There’s trouble outside.”_

_That got him moving, albeit at the speed of a snail, and Gladio moved to unzip the opening of the tent as he finally found the words to inquire, “What kinda trouble?”_

_“The potentially deadly kind,” responded Ignis with unflappable composure as he hurried to help Noct to his feet. The prince stumbled a bit, but he was gradually becoming more aware as the gravity of the situation dawned on him—it helped that the ground shook so violently this time that they all nearly toppled back to the floor._

_“My favorite kind,” Noct ground out, putting a hand on Ignis’s shoulder to steady himself._

_Prompto, still obviously terrified of whatever awaited them outside, found the fortitude to joke halfheartedly, “Why can’t it ever be the normal kind of trouble?”_

_“Does any of this look normal to you?” Gladio shot back. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the flap and stepped outside just as another quake rumbled beneath them. He staggered forward to see something he never would have expected._

_Beasts—sure._

_Daemons—maybe not in full daylight, but weirder things had happened._

_What he hadn’t been anticipating was the mountainous columns of crystal exploding out of the ground around their campsite, slowly blocking out the sun as they climbed higher towards the now overcast sky._

_“What_ is _all this?” wondered Noct behind him. When Gladio turned, he saw the prince staring up at the crystal with a hesitant expression Gladio hadn’t witnessed from him in years._

_Ignis stepped up beside him, calm as ever, and observed, “Whatever it is, it would be wise not to get trapped inside.”_

_“Easier said than done,” grunted Gladio, bracing himself as another pillar shot up—then another—and another—_

_“Uh, guys!”_

_Gladio whirled around at Prompto’s exclamation, his eyes blowing wide as he realized the same thing the latter obviously already had: the crystal was closing in around them, cornering them while they stood around gawking._

_“Go!” Gladio bellowed, pointing at one of the few open spaces remaining and dragging Noct forward by the scruff of his neck. “Before it closes up!”_

_“What about the gear?!” shouted Prompto without hesitating to follow suit._

_“We can come back for it,” answered Ignis, bringing up the rear._

_The rock beneath their feet was practically a rolling wave in the unending quake, rattling their teeth and sending them staggering this way and that as they fought to get to the rapidly closing exit before it was too late. Thinking quickly, Gladio shoved Noct ahead of him and ordered him to run, which he did without question for once. There wasn’t enough time to argue, not if they all wanted to get out of here._

_It happened in half the time it took to blink an eye._

_Gladio glanced behind him to make sure the other two were keeping up, then went flying as the ground erupted beneath his feet and something hard drove into his stomach with the force of a thousand Titans. Landing hard, Gladio coughed on the air filling his lungs and blinked a few times to regain his bearings. In the swirl of dust and debris, he couldn’t see his friends and scrambled to his feet, searching in every direction until he heard the only thing that could make his blood run cold at the drop of a hat._

_“Noct!”_

_“No!”_

_Turning in the direction of their shouts, Gladio took off until he could finally spot Prompto and Ignis through the rapidly descending darkness. He came screeching to a halt beside them and felt his mouth falling open as he saw what they must have been reacting to._

_Noctis, encased in crystal, a part of the wall that had them trapped._

_He was supposed to do something. Gladio knew that. They should be moving or acting or_ something _, but he couldn’t seem to get his legs to work. His mind was both treacherously blank and chaotically awhirl with just one thought. It screamed at him from the recesses of his brain, whispered jeeringly through the darkness, cried agonizingly from the pit of his stomach._

_They’d failed._

_“Gladio, we need to get him out,” ordered Ignis, forcefully yanking him out of his despair and back into the here and now. When their eyes met, Ignis reminded him, “We haven’t much time.”_

_“Right,” Gladio nodded, his voice distant to his own ears. Blinking rapidly and shaking his head, he forced himself to pull his head out of his ass and resolutely repeated, “Right.”_

_Ignis, seemingly satisfied for now, whipped out his daggers faster than Gladio had ever seen and brought the blades down hard on the crystal imprisoning their friend before their eyes._

_They didn’t leave a scratch._

_“Gonna need something way more powerful than that,” he observed. Prompto nodded, pulling his circular saw out of the air itself and pushing forward with a look of determination Gladio didn’t think he’d ever seen from him before._

_“All right, step back and let’s see what this baby can do!” he exclaimed as he fired up the machine with a roar that was easily blanketed by the shifting of the crystal around them. Time was waning fast now._

_The crystal, however, was actively working against them. The moment Prompto’s weapon touched the edge, it stuttered to a stop. Frowning, he restarted it and tried again—this time, the blade shuddered as it ground against the rock until the screeching groan of bending metal echoed all around them. Gladio barely had time to call out a warning before the whole thing exploded, sending Prompto flying backwards into the dust._

_Gladio turned back to the crystal, his rage all-encompassing as he stared through the jagged edges to where his friend was ensconced inside. Noctis didn’t even look worried—for all any of them knew, he could just be sleeping. The only sign that this was no ordinary slumber was the barest hint of a crease between his eyebrows, whether of pain or surprise or whatever else, Gladio didn’t know. What he was absolutely positive about was that this was wrong._

_This wasn’t supposed to happen._

_None of this was supposed to happen._

_But he’d let it._

_This was his fault._

_Growling under his breath, he shoved Ignis aside and pulled out his greatsword. He ignored his friend’s shout for him to wait—he ignored the way Ignis tried to grab his arm to stop him—he let everything fade away until the only things that existed were him and that damn crystal that had made a mockery of his station by stealing his charge from him._

_With a shout of rage and exertion, Gladio raised his weapon above his head and brought it down on the crystal as hard as his arms would allow._

_When it made contact, the crystal shattered—_

_And so did everything else._

_Noctis, Prompto, Ignis—the crystal, the camp—everything was gone, and Gladio fell into darkness just before_ he woke with a start, panting as though he’d just run all the way from Insomnia to Ravatogh.

Through the dim light of the caravan’s only lamp, he could see Umbra’s eyes glittering in the shadows as he kept watch and waited for Gladio to edge closer to full awareness. When he did, the dog hopped up onto his bunk and curled into his side, a warm and comforting presence even in the lingering aftershocks of his nightmare. Gladio, in a moment of weakness he would never admit to, wrapped an arm around him and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Always the same. Never any better.

 

***

 

“I’m…still not sure how you knew it was _today_ ,” mused Gladio with a frown as he stared around at the brightly colored balloons and streamers. “Or how you got this stuff.”

Iris rolled her eyes, but Ignis was the one who replied, “It’s called _technology_. As for the decorations, Iris has refused to divulge just how she came across them.”

“What’s the point of a surprise if you’re going to tell everyone how you did it!” Iris exclaimed with a self-satisfied grin. It slipped off her face a moment later as she folded her arms and added, “It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. Today’s a big day, Gladdy.”

Prompto clapped him on his shoulder teasingly. “Yup, the big guy’s thirty- _three_. Maybe I should start calling you _old man_ …”

“Only if you’ve got a death wish,” threatened Gladio without heat. Prompto mock-shuddered.

“Big guy it is.”

Huffing out a laugh, Gladio took another look around the room and couldn’t help but smile. When Iris had called to tell him there was an emergency and he needed to get to Lestallum immediately, he’d thought something had gone wrong with the power plant. His mind had been swimming with images of Lestallum in ruins, overrun with daemons slaughtering people in droves. Arriving to see everything looking the same as normal set him even more on edge—if things looked fine, what could possibly be important enough that Iris needed him to get there so fast?

As it turned out, he’d forgotten his own birthday. It wasn’t really his fault despite how badly Iris scolded him for it after the initial surprise: hunting out in the middle of nowhere usually meant he didn’t have anywhere to charge his phone, so it wasn’t like he could check the date whenever he wanted. Besides, it wasn’t really that important, anyway. Dates meant very little; days themselves were extinct, blurring into one another without pause. Nine birthdays had passed that way, and he’d had no reason to believe that this one would be any different.

In the last ten years, normal things like that just fell by the wayside. Sure, he sometimes remembered to give Ignis or Prompto a call for their birthdays (usually only if he remembered to charge his phone and happened to notice they were coming up), and he never missed stopping to see Iris on hers, but they had more important things to deal with these days. Pausing to celebrate meant more daemons that didn’t get their asses handed to them, and that was a wasted day in Gladio’s opinion.

That, and it was a little depressing when one of the most important guests wasn’t going to show up. He wouldn’t admit it to the others, but it wasn’t like they didn’t feel the same way.

Apparently, this year was going to be different, though. Iris, at least, wasn’t willing to let him slip past it without commemorating the occasion, so he figured he would tolerate the break for now—for _her_.

_Thirty-three, though… Time flies._

It felt both like just yesterday and an eternity ago that he was a bright-eyed twenty-three-year-old who was ready to see his prince to Altissia for a wedding that would never occur. Maybe it was the awkward passage of time in this dark world, but Gladio had a hard time believing that it had been so long. Hell, he felt the same as he did back then, if a little wiser to how the world worked outside the Crown City.

The fact of the matter was that time _did_ pass, though, and there was nothing they could do to stop its march. In a way, that was another reason celebrating birthdays was a big waste of time. With each passing year, the concern grew not that Noct wouldn’t return, but that Gladio and the rest might not be there to see it.

And with that, his relatively good mood instantly went to hell. The thought of dying in the world they lived in now, knowing that Ardyn Izunia was on the throne and Noctis would have to face him alone someday, was more than Gladio could bear. In his heart of hearts, he felt the same as he had since he was fifteen: he was the King’s Shield, and his place was at the king’s side.

Time didn’t care, though. Time never cared, nor would it be more than an objective observer if Gladio’s time came before Noct’s had once again begun.

_What’ll happen to us then?_

“Uh, hello? Earth to Gladdy!”

Blinking, Gladio glanced up from where he’d apparently been staring at the floor to see all eyes in the room trained on him—including Iggy’s, which was just plain eerie. He plastered a smile on his face and hoped it didn’t look too strained as he apologized under his breath.

“You okay?” inquired Iris quietly, her eyes filled with concern he had no right to make her feel.

“Yeah. Just thinking about whether Prompto’ll be able to grow an _actual_ beard by the time he’s my age,” he joked, the weight in his chest lifting as Iris giggled and Prompto punched his shoulder.

“Dude, what is it with you and the beard!”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. If _that’s_ what you’re calling it.”

“That’s what it is!”

“Looks more like a patch of tumbleweed to me.”

“Must be all that time he spends in Hammerhead,” Ignis suggested, much to Prompto’s sputtering indignation. “He’s beginning to take on the appearance of the scenery.”

“Gotta be,” agreed Gladio with a smirk.

Prompto opened his mouth to reply to that when a scratching on the front door cut him off. Not a knock—a _scratch_.

“What’s that?” Iris asked, more to herself than anyone else, and strode across the room to open the door. By the time she had unlatched the bolt, Gladio was on his feet behind her. Based on Ignis’s pointed sigh, he knew it was a little overprotective; Iris could take care of herself and had earned quite the nickname amongst her fellow hunters as a result, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still go into _Big Brother Mode_ during the rare instances when they were in the same place together. Some things would simply never change.

His wariness ebbed away into relief when he peered over her shoulder to see Umbra sitting patiently on the doorstep, though, and he muttered for Ignis’s benefit, “It’s Umbra.”

Ignis perked up while Prompto bounded forward to see for himself. His eyes went wide and he exclaimed, “Hey, buddy! Been a long time since we saw you around here!”

For his part, Umbra maintained his composure under all the attention and darted into the house as soon as Iris had stepped aside.

“He’s never come looking for you when you’ve been here before,” mused Ignis slowly, his eyebrows contracting in confusion.

Gladio nodded. “Yeah. Actually, he hasn’t been around for a couple of months. I thought he was getting tired of me,” he added in jest. A cold, wet nose poked into his hand and he glanced down to see Umbra nudging his palm insistently.

For a second, Gladio thought he was just attempting to deny the allegation. (He’d stopped trying to figure out if Umbra understood what they were saying years ago—the answer was obvious.) Then he noticed a lump in the sash on the Messenger’s back.

“What do you have there?” he asked, kneeling down to get a closer look.

Umbra simply whined, turning to make it easier for him to retrieve whatever he’d brought.

There was a brief moment where he hesitated, not sure he wanted to find out what it was just yet. The tidings Umbra brought Noct were always good: that Lunafreya was still alive, at least until that last time. He’d never brought anything for Gladio in all the years they’d been intermittent companions, and Gladio wasn’t sure he wanted to know whether he came bearing good news or bad.

 _Don’t be a wuss_ , he scolded silently, steeling himself. Whatever it was, he would face it. He had to.

So, slowly, he reached into the sash and closed his hand around a small book. When he pulled it out, all he could do was stare at it uncomprehendingly.

“Is that…?” Prompto trailed off, obviously thinking the same thing Gladio was.

_Why would Umbra have Noct’s notebook?_

“Looks like it,” he grunted in response, flipping through the pages. He felt bad for all of half a second—after all, Noct and Luna had communicated through this thing for twelve years, and it was a pretty big invasion of his privacy to just go through it like Gladio had the right. Still, Umbra brought it to him for a reason, so there had to be something important he was meant to see.

Sure enough, on the very last page was a pressed sylleblossom, looking as fresh as if it had just been plucked out of the ground. There was another on the page before it, but the edges were wilted and creased with age. Gladio flipped between them, trying to make sense of it while Umbra stared up at him and waited for something to click.

“Gladio?” He hadn’t realized Ignis had moved to stand beside him until he spoke. “What is it?”

Shaking his head, Gladio replied, “A sylleblossom.”

There was a moment of silence, then Ignis inhaled sharply. Whatever the flower meant, he must have figured it out already.

_Typical._

“Wanna share with the class there, Iggy?”

Ignis didn’t answer immediately. Instead he wandered back to the sofa and sat heavily, as though the weight of the last ten years was finally coming home to roost. When he spoke, it was in a carefully neutral voice, but Gladio knew him well enough to hear the hopeful undertone belying his attempt.

“In the old days, sylleblossoms were used to weave the royal crowns. I had heard that with all the daemons in Tenebrae, most of them were destroyed.”

“Not this one,” objected Prompto. “It still looks okay.”

Ignis fell silent, and right on cue, Gladio understood. Running his fingers gingerly over the flower, he lifted his eyes to Umbra’s to find the dog staring at him intently. When their eyes met, the Messenger inclined his head slightly, confirming Gladio’s suspicions as he somehow seemed to read his thoughts.

The king was coming.

Thinking quickly, Gladio ordered, “Iris, get me some paper.”

“Uh…okay.”

She was obviously confused and wanted to ask, but the urgency in his tone must have indicated that now wasn’t the time. Vowing silently to make it up to her later, Gladio waited impatiently for her to return and, when she did, froze with his pen held over the paper. He knew what he needed to write, but…

“Hammerhead,” recommended Ignis. Frowning, Gladio turned to see him watching sightlessly.

“What?”

“Tell him to meet us in Hammerhead,” he clarified firmly. “We can relocate there for the time being.”

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with that?” inquired Gladio. “We don’t know how long it’ll be.”

“How long it’ll be till what?” demanded Prompto, slow on the uptake as always.

Ignis didn’t bother answering him, his attention focused solely on Gladio. “Then we’ll stay for as long as it takes. The location will be ideal and keep us closer to the Crown City.”

“True.”

“Uh, seriously, guys—what’re we talking about here?”

Snorting, Gladio shook his head and turned back to the paper. He’d leave the explaining to Ignis.

In the meantime, he wrote the message in a steady hand—short and to the point. There was no need to stand on ceremony. Just like the day they’d left Insomnia, it wasn’t like they needed to give a formal address. After all this time, he doubted it would be appreciated anyway.

Gladio glanced back over the words as he finished, nodding his approval and folding the paper up to place in Umbra’s sash alongside the journal. It was only as long as it took Gladio to open the door before Umbra was dashing out into the darkness, vanishing in an instant with their last hope held securely and Gladio’s eyes following.

“Be waiting,” he repeated softly, feeling the first twitches of a _real_ smile in a long time beginning to tug at his lips. “In Hammerhead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! We only have one chapter left in this particular story, although you may notice that this work is now part of a series. I intend to fill in a few more holes in both the game's narrative and "Brotherhood" as we wait for the DLC to start releasing, so if you've enjoyed this story, I hope you'll stick around to see what else is in store for the boys and the rest of Lucis along their road!


	5. Where Paths Converge

Prompto dodged out of the way just as the bomb daemon exploded, heat searing his back even through his clothing. Whirling back around, he brought up his firearm, took aim at the Red Giant just as it was about to bring its fiery blade down on Ignis, and fired off one of the last flares he’d brought with them.

_This better work…_

The flare exploded a moment later and hovered above the battle like a beacon. As he’d hoped, it was enough to give the daemon pause. The Red Giant hesitated in the face of the light, providing Ignis with enough time to send his lance right into its face.

“Home stretch, baby!” Prompto cheered and sprinted closer. On the other side of their target, Gladio was doing the same.

“Ignis—instructions!”

“Form up,” Iggy called out, drawing his daggers as the Red Giant fell to its knees. “Give it everything you’ve got!”

“Aye aye, cap’n!” grinned Prompto. In expert time, he swapped out his firearm for his circular saw and went to _town_ on that daemon. Ignis and Gladio followed suit, coming at the beast from different angles to make sure they gave it no chance to regain its footing.

It tried, but they were better.

“One last push should suffice to finish it off,” grunted Ignis just as the Red Giant swung out a fist in one last ditch attempt to turn the tide of the battle.

Before Prompto or Gladio could get close enough to help, Ignis ducked low to the ground to avoid its strike and threw his daggers straight into the daemon’s eyes without missing a beat—or missing _period_. The Red Giant let out a deafening roar as it was pierced by the blades, toppled forward, and disintegrated into a puddle of ash and shadow by the time any of them had a chance to blink.

Honestly, Prompto wasn’t sure why it still surprised him that Iggy could do stuff like that. He was beginning to envy Gladio’s unperturbed approach to…well, everything.

“Anybody dead?” Gladio asked, rolling with the punches as always. He swung his greatsword over his shoulder and paused to catch his breath.

“Not me!” exclaimed Prompto in relief. “Iggy?”

Straightening his glasses, Ignis nodded. “Still here. That was a close call, however.”

Gladio grunted, “Damn right it was. They’re getting stronger.”

“Indeed,” agreed Ignis with a sigh. “Let us hope it isn’t a sign of things to come.”

That brought all three of them up short, and Prompto shared an uncomfortable glance with Gladio, who usually didn’t let his tough façade drop for even a second. There was no use hiding it anymore, though; they all knew what was coming.

“Perhaps it would be best if we return to Hammerhead for the night,” suggested Ignis, sheathing his daggers and motioning back towards the garage. ( _Seriously, how does he do that?!_ ) “I doubt we’ll be up for much more in our present state.”

Gladio momentarily surveyed the terrain around them, as if he was actually _looking_ for more daemons to take down, before grudgingly agreeing. All things considered, Prompto figured it was pretty tough to go from setting your own schedule to working as a team again—but damn, he was _aching_. Gladio could stay out here all he wanted; Prompto was gonna find someplace to _sit_.

From the looks of things, he wasn’t the only one starting to feel the strain of recent days as they walked—trudged, really—back towards Hammerhead. It had been a long couple of months since Gladio’s birthday surprise from Umbra, and they’d spent most of that time hunting around Hammerhead, never straying too far from the place or each other…just in case. So far, though, they hadn’t heard another word about Noct or Ardyn or anything. It was starting to make Prompto nervous: what if something had happened to Umbra? What if something had happened to _Noct_ , and he wouldn’t be able to make it to them? Would Ardyn be a big enough creep to tell them so they could mount a probably very messy, generally unsuccessful rescue mission? Or would they be stuck here forever, wondering if they’d read the signs wrong or if the unthinkable had happened?

 _Don’t think like that_ , he reminded himself as firmly as he possibly could. He’d mentioned his fears aloud once to Ignis, who had assured him that they were unfounded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if something went wrong, they would never know. The world was a dark place, after all, and Noct was alone. Sure, he’d always been able to take care of himself—better than Prompto could, that was for sure—but…it only took one daemon, one attack, one moment. Was it so wrong to worry about his best friend?

Those were thoughts he tried not to dwell on too much, especially when they were out hunting, but they managed to sneak their way past his mental walls every so often. It helped to have Gladio and Ignis around; they both kept his head out of the clouds and on the path in front of him, which Aranea was pretty relieved about.

“Hey, Prompto—wake up.”

Or maybe they didn’t do the _best_ job.

Prompto jumped halfway out of his skin when someone shoved him, whirling around to see Gladio staring at him with that look he always got—the one that said he was thinking Prompto was either an idiot or that something was wrong with him. Usually, he erred on the side of the former.

“Huh, w-what?” he stammered, only to realize exactly what it was that had caught Gladio’s attention. His phone was ringing and vibrating loudly in his pocket, and if Gladio and Ignis’s twin looks of bemusement were indicative of anything, it probably had been for a while now.

_Well. That’s embarrassing._

Chuckling nervously, Prompto dug around in his pocket to retrieve the device. It wasn’t often that he got calls, not when the three of them were together again, but he heard from Cindy or someone in Lestallum now and then. Not this time, though. Talcott’s name was the one that appeared on his screen, and Prompto frowned in confusion. He’d only left Hammerhead yesterday—had he broken down on the road?

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” inquired Ignis pointedly. Prompto rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec,” he muttered, swiping the screen and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Talcott. What’s up, buddy?”

There was a slight pause, then, “Prompto… You’ll never believe it, sir. He’s back.”

Shoving down the sudden surge of excitement, Prompto glanced at his friends before tentatively asking, “Who?”

“The king.”

_Ho. Ly. Shit._

“You saw him?!” Prompto exclaimed. He pressed the phone harder to his ear as if making it a permanent part of his head would somehow help him hear better. Embarrassment was the furthest thing from his mind right now, though—he didn’t want to miss a thing.

“He’s right here with me,” Talcott answered, a note of excitement in his voice that Prompto hadn’t heard since he was still a kid. “I picked him up by Galdin Quay.”

“Prompto,” Ignis addressed him sharply. “What did he say?”

“H-hang on, Talcott.”

Prompto knew his eyes had to be wider than the meteor when he raised them to look at Ignis and Gladio, both of whom were watching him with ill-concealed expressions of mingled apprehension and anticipation. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, Prompto choked out a few incoherent half-sentences before Gladio sighed aggravatedly, tired of waiting.

“Spit it out, Blondie.”

Prompto had to mentally shake himself before he could utter, “Talcott’s with Noct. H-h-he’s back!”

“What?!”

“He’s _sure_ it’s him?” demanded Ignis as Gladio strode forward and yanked the phone right out of Prompto’s hand.

“Hey!”

“Talcott, it’s Gladio. The king’s with you?”

There was a pause while Talcott presumably answered. Prompto wouldn’t know, after all—it’s not like he was holding the phone or anything.

“And it’s definitely Noctis?” Pause. “I want to have a word with him.”

_Don't we all?_

After a second, Gladio huffed something akin to a chuckle and relaxed his stance a bit. “Sounds like him, all right. Meet us in Hammerhead—we’re not far from there.”

Despite the fact that he had a million questions, Prompto could only gape as Gladio disconnected the call and handed him his phone back. Ignis, equally silent, stood eerily still as Gladio seemed to compose himself. Once he had, he turned to shoot them both a confident grin.

“All right, fellas,” he announced. “Let’s make tracks. Wouldn’t be right to keep royalty waiting."

 _It’s him_ , Prompto realized, hardly daring to believe it. _It’s really him._

Their trek back to Hammerhead was a blur after that, all three of them quietly lost in their own thoughts as they got closer and closer to the moment they’d waited ten years for. As far as he was concerned, Prompto wasn’t sure if he was more excited or apprehensive. Noct was back, yeah, but…there was still a lot to deal with before all this was over. He kept thinking back to a conversation he’d had with Ignis over the phone years ago, when he’d pointed out that no matter what happened next, there was no telling whether they would all make it back in one piece. At the time, Ignis had stated that there wasn’t a whole lot of use in dwelling on it and they should make the best of the time they _did_ have. In general, they’d all done that. Now, though, it was coming to an end.

Noctis being back meant stepping into the unknown. Prompto never thought he’d get used to living in darkness and hunting daemons, but now that their mission was about to begin? Well, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t at least a _little_ daunting.

The promise of what awaited them back at Hammerhead must have lent them speed, because they made it back in record time. No one said anything, but Prompto knew they were all a little disappointed to find that they’d apparently beaten Talcott there, which meant sitting around until his truck arrived. As they stood in what used to be Takka’s but was now more of an armory-slash-workshop, they found their voices again and conversed quietly away from the other hunters. They avoided the subject of the king like the Starscourge, though. Until they saw Noct with their own eyes, it probably wasn’t a good idea to get anyone’s hopes up.

Thankfully, they weren’t waiting long. Not ten minutes after they arrived, Ignis paused mid-sentence and tilted his head to the side with a frown of concentration. “They’re here.”

Sure enough, Prompto leaned around him to see Talcott’s truck pulling in through the front gate. The sudden burst of eagerness didn’t stop him from groaning, “ _How_?”

“Stop using your mouth and start using your ears,” teased Gladio, already heading for the door.

Ignis, being a much _kinder_ soul, patted him sympathetically on the shoulder and followed suit, Prompto bringing up the rear as they stepped outside. His lingering irritation melted away immediately, however, when the truck’s passenger door opened and a familiar figure stepped out.

It was like no time had passed at all. Okay, maybe not _no_ time, but still, Prompto felt himself transported back ten years seeing Noctis turning towards them. He was wearing the same clothes he had been the last time they saw each other, but everything else had changed. The lower half of his face was dusted with a thin beard that made him look remarkably like his father, and his eyes were darker somehow— _wiser_. His hair, which was home to streaks of grey that hadn’t dwelt there before, was pushed out of his face for the first time Prompto could remember since they were kids. Everything about him was filthy and tattered, but none of it did a thing to quench the powerful aura he exuded as he strode towards them.

Underneath ten years of grime, he was still Noct. And he looked like a king.

Unable to stop himself, Prompto grabbed Ignis’s sleeve in excitement and pointed at Noct as if he could actually see anything. Ignis smiled faintly to show he wouldn’t hold it against him.

“Hey,” Noct greeted them. You’d have thought they just saw each other last week.

Gladio scoffed, shoving Noct’s shoulder. “’Hey’? That’s all you have to say for yourself—after all this time?”

Chuckling, Noct glanced over at them and Prompto found he couldn’t hold back another second.

“Noct, it’s you!” he exclaimed as he smacked his arm lightly and walked around his other side, seeking reassurance that this wasn’t some weird hallucination. “It’s really you!”

Grinning, Noct sarcastically replied, “Is it? I hadn’t realized.”

“Well, well. You kept us waiting,” Ignis interjected. If anyone else had said it, Prompto would have thought they sounded like a total asshole. The soft fondness in Iggy’s voice, however, spoke volumes of his delight that words never would.

Noct appeared to realize the same thing. He traversed the few feet between them, taking hold of Ignis’s shoulder tightly. The latter smiled down at him as he replied, “Not like I wanted to. We’ve got catching up to do.”

In that instant, the happy reunion was over. Noct’s voice turned serious, and he looked for all the world like a king preparing for battle. But then, Prompto supposed, that was exactly what this was. Noct was back—now they would fight for the future.

So, as Ignis recommended they move their business inside, Prompto stuck close to Noct’s side. The king had returned, and the void of the unknown stretched before them. Soon enough, they would jump in all together, to whatever end.

Darkness had come, but Prompto had no doubt that dawn was on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a brief disclaimer, I'd just like to point out that the dialogue towards the end is directly taken from the game. Some of the exchange during the fight is either direct or adapted quotes from battles in the game, as well. Also, stopping where I did was quite intentional--you can expect a separate story about Noct's return!
> 
> There you have it, folks. I hope you all enjoyed this little foray into a part of the game I'm very curious about. There will be plenty of other additions to this series, including both "deleted scenes" filling in some areas of the plot and a few bits of speculation as to the past and future of Eos. While I do have quite a bit already planned out, I'd be happy to take a few suggestions with regards to scenes _you_ would like to see! If you think of anything, feel free to leave it in a comment! Once again, thank you so much for taking a chance on this tale and all the wonderful feedback you guys have provided. In just over a week, this has become my most widely-read story, and I look forward to writing more for you in the coming days, weeks, and months. 
> 
> Until our next installment, walk tall, my friends.


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